Something I Missed
by Spirit0
Summary: AU Drugs, abuse: those were normal things that she could handle. But when Van is sentenced to ten years in prison for assisting in a murder, he crossed the line. Now free, he must do everything within his power to win Hitomi back before . . .
1. Prologue

**AN: . . . I just couldn't resist this idea, you know what I mean!? There are some ideas where you're like 'yeah! That's cool! I'll write it later . . .' and others that are 'holy crap, that's just AWESOME! I MUST WRITE NO MATTER THE COST!' Yeah, you know what I mean . . . This is one of the latter. Hope you enjoy . . .**

Something I Missed

_"Today, brothers Van and Folken Fanel received their sentences for the shooting of Jajuka Albatou. The drive-by shooting occurred one month ago, seemingly gang related._

_Folken, age twenty nine, eldest son of the Fanels, has received life in prison for pulling the trigger. Their younger son, Van, age twenty four, has been sentenced to ten years for being the driver._

_The Fanels have stated that they are horrified by their sons' acts, and believe they have received fitful punishments. But Van's wife, Hitomi Fanel, may be the most traumatized and horrified one of them all . . ."_

Prologue

It was only the beginning of December, yet it snowed like it was the middle of January. The temperature was about ten degrees below freezing, cold for such a time, allowing each unique snow flake to stick wherever it pleased. Yet, she didn't think it was any warmer inside. Actually, she felt it was much, much colder.

But the coldest thing was his eyes. Or maybe they were the hottest, for how could such dark, rust-like eyes be cold? No, they were burning. Their fire was so furious that even her sea-green emerald orbs couldn't fight them.

"You brought this upon yourself," she said quietly, allowing a spiteful smile to adorn her lips. "And I was an idiot for not seeing it."

"Is that what you came here for, my _dearest_ Hitomi? To rub in how much of a dumbass I am? Because I already knew that," he replied icily, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"If you knew it why didn't you _do_ something about it, Van?" she hissed. "Why didn't you do something instead of ruining our lives?!"

Van scowled as he looked away, pieces of his raven black hair falling out of place. But Hitomi could still see that there was something different in his eyes now. It almost seemed like pain. But it couldn't be – Van Fanel didn't feel pain. To Hitomi, he didn't seem to care or have feelings about anything. Not even her, his own wife.

"Listen, _dumbass_," Hitomi cried angrily. "I've put up with your arrogance for the past two years, but now you've gone too far. I _will_ divorce you, Van, and you _will_ sign the divorce papers willingly. And there will be _no_ disputes over this in court!" By the end, she was choking. The guards by the heavy metal door began to fidget nervously. Yet Van remained motionless, his expression full of apathy.

He wanted to say something stupid, like '_Wow, you're actually being assertive! Good for you!'_ but thought better of it. His situation was already bad enough. So instead he just glared, pondering. What benefits were there to resisting? None. Besides . . .

"Fine. I don't need you anyway," Van said quietly, refusing to look Hitomi directly in the face. If he had, he would've seen her fighting off tears.

"This the most despicable thing you've ever done," Hitomi whispered, throwing her wedding ring and a pendant at him. He trapped them and stared as they hit his chest. The pink, tear-shaped pendant had been a gift from so long ago. Now it was just a bringer of bad memories.

"Did you ever love me, Van?" Hitomi managed to sob. "Did you?"

Van would not answer as he continued to stare at the disregarded wedding ring and necklace.

"I hate you . . ." she cried. "I'm through here . . ."

One guard escorted her out of the completely white, fully protected room. The other guard went over to Van, shaking him roughly to get up. He clenched his teeth and made a fist before standing.

"May I keep these?" Van asked quietly, pointing to his fist, which was holding the two pieces of jewelery. The young-looking guard thought about, then nodded.

"Just get a move on now," the prison guard said with another push towards the door.

As he walked through the door, his hands in cuffs, towards his cell, Van wondered: _what_ was the most despicable he'd ever done? Assisting in a murder? Or telling his wife that he didn't need her anymore?

He decided both were equally despicable.

_And I_

_Just wish that I didn't feel like there was something I missed_

_And I_

_Take back all the things I said to make you feel like that_

_And I _

_Just wish that I didn't feel like there was something I missed_

_And I_

_Take back all the things that I said to you_

**AN: Yes, it was short, wasn't it? Oh well . . . it was necessary! I just hope it was enough to catch your attention. And if it was . . . I would appreciate a review. (And I hope you have a LOT of patience . . . . I'm a horrible updater!) **

**The lyrics are from Linkin Park's 'My December'. If you haven't heard it . . . or aren't an LP fan . . . you should listen to it anyway :P. (The idea itself was not spawned from the song- the song is just very helpful! (And as you can see, I took the title of this story from it, but the title is out of context . . .))**

**Oh yeah . . . I combined quite a few members of my family to create Van. (Makes you wonder about my family, doesn't it?)**

**-Spirit0**


	2. Freedom Isn't Always Free

**AN: Well, I was trying to update Last Stop, but . . . I ran into some problems '. I'm trying to cram way too much into the next chapter . . . So by the time my editor and I decided what to keep and what to do away with, we were both like 'my head hurts!' But we were both having fun planning this! (Not really, I just wanted to write it. I've only planned out five chapters (But I know what's going to happen))**

**And dammit, I still haven't done my school assignments!**

Something I Missed

Chapter One: Freedom Isn't Always Free

Leaves danced on the wind, tornadoes of color springing up everywhere. Clouds loomed in the east while the sun blazed in the west, creating a very picturesque skyline. Photographers were probably having a blast. But anyone trying to actually rake and tame the leaves . . . wished it would just begin to storm.

He pulled a leaf out of his already scraggly looking hair. Holding it by the stem, he stared at the tiny piece of flora. It looked like so many other leaves in mid-autumn; rather large, five 'fingers', and a dark shade of brown. But was it really that dark a brown? Or was that just the way he perceived it? Because he swore he saw the world in a darker shade of gray ever since the day he was put behind bars.

Van watched his leaf fly away before getting back to raking. He wondered why he even bothered in this weather. It was just a month shy of his fifth year in prison, only halfway through his sentence. But he hoped half was all he'd need to do- that's why he kept raking and cleaning the park. It was part of the community service that was getting him out of jail. That, and . . .

The twenty nine year old sighed, hefting yet another bag of leaves to the dumpster. He'd always known jail was an awful place; that was knowledge adults always scared children with. But Van swore that if he had to stay for ten years, he'd go mental and commit suicide. It was that bad. How could people stay here for life? Then again, those were _real_ criminals who committed hefty crimes . . .

Like Folken, his brother. Everything was his fault. Everything. Now, he'd spend the rest of his life rotting in jail. And then he'd rot in hell.

The clouds were inching ever closer. They looked so ominous. Van loved it.

"Perhaps I can't see bright red anymore because I'm not _free_ to see bright red. Or maybe I just don't want to see red anymore . . . It reminds me too much of blood . . ."

oOo

She dropped the grocery bags precariously onto the counter. Well, on top of the newspapers, magazines, and files that were on top of the counter anyway. Brushing a stray piece of sandy blond hair out of her face, she flopped down on the couch with a sigh. She observed that her small apartment was all a bunch of clutter. But she didn't have time to clean it.

After a minute of rest, Hitomi got up and put her groceries away. Why did she bother buying so much food? She rarely cooked, and when she did, it usually wasn't something big. Perhaps she bought an abundance out of habit . . . She'd always cooked good meals when she and Van had lived in their spacious house.

_Damn it_, why was she thinking of _him_ and the house she'd had to give up? That was all in the past . . . She was well-off by herself. Yet thoughts of _him_ still haunted her. Then again, the thought was probably triggered because of the news she'd just heard.

They were releasing Van. The bastard . . .

"What does it matter?" Hitomi asked herself quietly, slamming the refrigerator door. "He's nothing to me now, and I'm nothing to him. He'll just go screw some other girl, like the bastard that he's always been."

oOo

"You have no cravings for heroin?" the old doctor, Dr. Kure, asked, looking Van straight in the eyes. Van smiled slightly, although he felt completely exasperated.

"I haven't touched heroin for practically five years," he replied calmly. "I do not want heroin, nor do I need it."

"You haven't become addicted to methadone?" the old man in a crazy guy lab coat asked in his horribly mundane voice.

"I do not feel the need to take any drugs what-so-ever."

"What about alcohol?"

"I do not wish to drink anymore."

"You sure?" the doctor asked darkly.

"Look," Van replied, doing his best to fake a friendly smile, "I get it. Drugs and alcohol are _bad_. They could land me back _here_. And I would rather _die_ than come back to this God-forsaken place."

Dr. Kure placed his clipboard down, leaning back in his chair. Van made no move. The old coot wasn't done with him yet.

"What do you plan to do now, Van? Your reputation is scarred, your family wants you to prove yourself, and your wife left you . . ."

Van's muscles tightened at the mention of his wife. Hitomi. What was she doing now, without him around to mess everything up? Was she happy? Did she move on? Was she remarried? Did she have kids? He toyed with the only items he had left of her in his pocket, the cool pendant void of her essence.

_Better question: Do I care? _

"Then I'll just start all over again. I'll move back into my house, try to find a job, and pick up a few gals on the side," Van grinned slyly in spite of himself.

"There are just some things even I can't cure," Dr. Kure said with a sigh.

oOo

It rained harder than it had in years, pelting his skin like tiny needles. A flash of lightning illuminated the blackened evening sky. The sound of sirens wafted on the winds. It was all so wonderfully exhilarating.

Everything was its natural color now that Van Fanel was free.

**AN: My bad, another short chapter. Wow, I wrote that in two days . . . Awesome! But now, I really must do my school work. I'm scared I won't finish in time (and there's still over a month, haha)**

**And so begins the story. I promise next chapter will be longer. Stuff will actually happen.**

**Review Replies!**

**akai chou**: Yay, my first reviewer! Yes . . . my fathers (not excluding my father) family is quite sad. But that's okay, they make a cool story, heh. And some of them have changed their evil ways. I only thought of this story because I'm working with one of my uncles and I TOTALLY misjudged him . . . Don't judge people on how they act at family functions, haha. Anyways, sorry it's so short again :P. I guess I should have added this with the prologue . . .

**iwakura.lain:** Glad I could catch your attention with less than two pages of work . And I can't believe it WAS actually soon . . . Don't expect such fast updates, like, ever again, heh. Hope I kept your curiosity.

**mysisterisasquijum: **Look, I actually produced more! I think it was quite boring . Maybe I'm wrong . . . Hope you liked it anyway.

**kmmgirly:** I know, I gotta stop writing new stories and finish some. But yeah, ten years is a long time. He'd be all old when he got out, like, thirty four! I can't have that! So I cut his time in half :P. And I would never do such horribleness as Hitomi getting remarried! Although . . . she does have a boyfriend (you can only guess who, right?). Oh well . . . hope this chapter wasn't too boring!

**Inda:** I don't understand a criminals brain, but there were reasons behind Van's actions. And somewhere deep down inside he loves Hitomi. But not for another chapter, heh. Glad you liked it!

**Cev:** Ohmigosh, you actually think this is interesting?! -dies- It's not half as interesting as your stuff!! (Which I SERIOUSLY need to catch up on!) Ack . . . I can't believe I updated this early . . . I never update that fast. I hope you still like it and thank you!!

**Kat-Tastrophe: **Thanks, I wish I could WRITE more, heh. But another short chapter will have to do. Thanks!

**crazie-foe-u : **Can you really derive that it's awesome from one and a half pages? Heh, thank you and I hope it was still awesome!

**fireangel621**Heh, if the first chapter's not interesting, why would you wanna read the rest? I always make my second chapter dull! Hopefully it wasn't too dull . . . Thanks for the review!

**FragileSwiftWind**: Is it still interesting? Thank you for the review and I hope you come again, heh!

**Clémence:** Haha, YES, LP rocks! I found this chapter rather dull and without the wonderful LP lyrics . . . but oh well! Hope you liked it anyways and thanks for the review!

**shadow Glider:** For once I didn't make you play the waiting game! -proud of self- Woohoo, go Linkin Park! I think I like the version on their 'Reanimation' CD better, but whatever! Hm . . . My family just tries to act all holy and whatever. We're not allowed to talk about the bad stuff. Yet no one said I couldn't WRITE about it :P. Guess I'm evil myself! But it makes a pretty interesting story, right? Thanks for the review and hope I didn't bore you too much!

**pure hope: **I, too, feel bad for Hitomi. (Not to say Van is without his punishment). Will things get better . . ? Only my editor and I know the answer! Hope you liked this chapter and thanks!

**iceboltmage****: I** guess that was pretty fast for you since you just reviewed! And I thank you, because I was actually writing when I received that review! It was good motivation! Thank you!

**Oh, did I forget to mention my editor is Vi3tbabii? (Who keeps running off!)**

**-Spirit0**


	3. No Price For Love

Something I Missed

**AN: I have not forgotten this story! I luff this story! (It's just . . . everyone likes Last Stop more . . . and I like Last Stop . . . and it's easier to write . . . and yeah --') So, I was trying to outline this story like I did with LS, but I got bored XD. There will probably be anywhere from ten to fifteen chapters, it seems (I have a general outline). **

Chapter Two: No Price For Love

The room felt stuffy as the oven warmed to four hundred fifty degrees. Water boiled on the stove, causing steam to rise. The lone window above the sink began to show signs of condensation, for the temperature outside had begun to fall. But Hitomi felt hot not only because of her kitchen appliances; it also had a bit to do with the man who towered over her, his hands around her waist, pulling her closer to him. Hitomi smiled thinly, continuing to chop the carrots, holding the cool blade of the knife with her index finger and thumb. It was one of the rare nights she decided to cook. The television could be heard in the next room, the newscaster reporting a sexual assault case.

It wasn't until her male companion kissed her neck that Hitomi said something. "Allen, I'm trying to make _dinner_. Either help me or wait in the other room."

_"It looks like more rain is on the way . . ."_

Allen, however, did not let go. Instead, he leaned down and buried his face in her neck, his long, silky blond hair tickling her. "I _am _helping you. I'm keeping you company," he whispered, kissing her neck again.

"Keep me company in the other room," Hitomi growled as seriously as she could, although a smile tugged at the edges of her lips.

_"Back to you . . ."_

"Give me a kiss and I'll go away," Allen murmured, as if he were a teenager stuck in a thirty-four year-olds body, his electric blue eyes boring into her emerald green ones. Hitomi could hardly resist him when he gave her that look. His eyes radiated innocence, love, excitement, playfulness, and cunning all at the same time. They were the most seductive eyes she'd ever seen . . . or so Hitomi told herself as she leaned in to kiss his tender, lustful lips.

Hitomi pushed Allen away lightly as she went back to chopping carrots. Despite his deal, Allen remained in the kitchen, but stood a respective distance away, leaning against the counter. From his vantage point, Allen could see the television. Hitomi was only half-listening to what was being said when the next report made her stop dead. But she never turned around to look at the screen. She didn't know if she could handle it.

_"Today, Van Fanel, assistant to his brother Folken Fanel in the murder of Jajuka Albatou five years ago, was released. Fanel's release comes five years ahead of schedule due to . . ."_

"Do you want to talk about it?" Allen asked softly, encompassing Hitomi in an embrace, the luscious smell of a home-cooked dinner drifting around them. Hitomi allowed Allen to take her in his arms, yet she continued to look at the floor. But what she saw wasn't the floor at all.

"No . . ."

_"Fanel declined all interviews . . ."_

"You could have put him away for a long time," Allen said into her ear. "He could still be in jail."

Hitomi swallowed hard. "I said I don't want to talk about it."

_"Back to you . . ."_

oOo

Looking around the room, his gaze moving slowly over every detail, he felt eerie and out-of-place. Van hadn't remembered the house being so . . . quiet and empty. And lonely. _Then again, what was I expecting_? _No one has lived in this house for practically five years.__And six years ago . . . I don't really want to remember._

A part of Van was surprised his parents had even kept the house, especially for him. He'd expected to be cast aside by anyone he'd ever known after being released from prison. Sitting down on the old, neglected couch, Van replayed the conversation in his mind.

_"The house is still yours. We had the electricity and water turned back on yesterday. All your belongings should still be there, albeit covered in dust," Varie said, avoiding her son's gaze. She handed him the keys to the house. An awkward silence ensued._

_"When you say the house is mine . . ." Van began hesitantly; his mother, however, was already one step ahead of him._

_"It's under your name only," Varie whispered quietly, stealing a glance at her forlorn son. Van's eyes flickered to the cracked cement for a moment before retaining their usual fiery state._

_"And all my belonging's are there? My clothes?" _

_"Whatever she didn't take with her or burn," Varie replied calmly. Van rubbed the back of his neck, contemplating whether he should ask or not._

_"What happened to her? Where is she?"_

_Varie held Van's gaze. Van saw the worry in her eyes. He feared she wouldn't tell him. Why should she tell him about Hitomi? But he just wanted to know because . . . he just wanted to know. "I haven't kept in touch with her recently. But last I heard she still works at the cancer center and wants nothing to do with you."_

_Van's eyes darkened._

He smiled thinly as he walked through the rest of the house. Indeed, everything still appeared to be there, in the same places he'd always remembered them being. Even the kitchen utensils remained; from the potato peeler to the classy set of knifes. Too bad there was no food to cook.

_You couldn't even take the spoons, Hitomi?_ Van thought wearily as he strode on toward the bedroom. The curtains were drawn tight; he couldn't see a thing. Reaching instinctively for the wall, he flipped the switch. Two small bedside lamps clicked on. Hitomi had always liked having dim lighting in the bedroom. It was just enough for her to read at night and for Van to finish up his paperwork. Yet it still somehow retained a sense of romance that Hitomi had always adored.

Checking the drawers, Van noticed all his clothes had been neatly folded and put away . . . except, of course, certain outfits he used to love wearing. In those drawers that used to be Hitomi's, Van found nothing. On the bookshelf he found no sappy tales of love, no suspenseful thrillers, no adventure stories; he found only a thick layer of dust. None of the pictures from when he and Hitomi were younger, their vacations, or their wedding hung on the walls. There were no magazines, no hairbrushes, no shoes, no makeup lying around on the floor. The room where Van had slept for three years and had so longed for the past five felt unwelcoming.

Just as he was about to walk out, Van saw a picture frame resting on his beside table. _That definitely wasn't there when I left. I never kept anything but work there,_ Van thought as he gently lifted the frame. The glass had been smashed, the cracks stemming from dead center. Van paled. It was their wedding picture.

Hitomi smiled happily, her white dress making her shine. Her shoulder-length brown hair was slightly curled, hanging freely, partially covering her face; she always wanted to keep things simple. She looked shy as she leaned her head against his shoulder. Van scrutinized himself. He, too, smiled, adorned in a black tuxedo, clasping Hitomi's hand gently. Unlike Hitomi, however, he was not looking at the camera; instead, he gazed at his wife lovingly. From the picture, they were the perfect couple. Young. Happy. Successful. Hopeful. Madly in love.

_Where did I go wrong?_ Removing the picture from the shattered frame, Van simply held it between his fingers. Flipping it over, he discovered Hitomi's smooth cursive writing.

_Van,_

_If you're reading this, then you're a little more observant than I gave you credit for. Or maybe it's that you actually care about this picture, but somehow, I doubt that. What I really wanted was to shred this picture. But I didn't have the heart to. I actually started burning and shredding our old pictures, yet when I thought about it, I was ruining my memories. Our memories. Our _happy _memories. Why did this happen to me, Van? Why did this happen to us, after all the shit we had to go through to be together? Why won't you ever tell me why?_

_I guess I should have always known, from the first date, that you were too good to be real._

Tear stains had caused some of the ink to run. When he was finished reading, Van merely sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, thinking, staring off into space. With a sigh, he placed the picture face down atop the table. On top of that, he placed the wedding ring and pendant and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

oOo

Suddenly Van remembered why he so desperately wanted to succeed in life: so he wouldn't have to wear a stupid McDonald's uniform and make less than seven dollars an hour. Sometimes, however, life didn't go as planned, and so _I-used-to-be-a-prominent-title-searcher_ Van Fanel was now stuck asking, "Hello, may I take your order?"

_I'm surrounded by idiots_,_ and this hat just looks fucking ridiculous,_ Van thought angrily as he handed a group of teens their orders. One girl gave him a funny look; as the bunch began to walk away, the girl whispered in her friend's ear. The second girl looked back at him quickly, trying to be discreet. _Like I can't see you staring at me, retards. _

Van got funny looks ever since he started his job four days ago. More people than he'd ever imagined recognized him as the murderer on the news. _Great. Just what I need to get back on my feet. Maybe I'll just kill you all, huh?_

The one thing that did amaze Van, however, was the diversity of those who ordered fast food. He himself had always managed to avoid such "below standard" places; he made sure to eat an adequate breakfast, lunch, and dinner, or not eat at all. It was a fetish of his that he never could shake. But in only four days, Van Fanel had seen from gangsters and hookers to lawyers and bankers walk through the door, and he couldn't help wondering about all of them.

Little did Van know it was his lucky business day.

With a pitiful sigh, Van resigned himself to one of the round, two person tables by the window. There were only two straggling lunch customers seated, lost in their own little worlds. Van stared out the dirty window at the cars traveling along, feeling trapped and alone. A Mercedes Benz drove by. _That used to be me. I used to be a big-shot with money. What am I going to do? I really _will_ kill someone, most likely _myself_, if I stay here._

A tap on the shoulder brought Van out of his self misery. Annoyed, he turned around to see who would dare disturb his thoughts. Behind him stood a tall, tan man dressed in burly, baggy, drab clothes, as if he would die if the chilled air of late fall touched even a hair of his skin. With an unshaven face, the man smiled down at the ex-convict knowingly, as if a secret message had been conveyed through the gesture. Brushing aside a strand of curly brown hair that had escaped its ponytail, he sat down across from Van.

"Van Fanel, yes?" the man asked in a relaxed, yet somehow dignified, voice, looking over his thin glasses. Van stared back at him fiercely, unsure whether to be friendly or to tell the guy to go screw himself.

"What of it?" Van growled.

The man laughed as if he didn't have a care in the world. "Why the touchy answer? I take it you don't recognize me?"

Van's eyes narrowed as he tried to place the face. "No . . . should I?"

Leaning back, the man stared at Van, as if giving the younger man a little more time to think it through. Then, with a shrug, he said, "No, I suppose you shouldn't, although we've met and corresponded a few times."

Van remained silent, staring at the oddball quizzically.

The thirty-some year old held out his hand; Van hesitantly accepted. "Dryden Fassa, head of _Crusade_, the local real estate agency."

"_Dryden Fassa?"_ Van repeated incredulously, a spark of remembrance flashing through his mind. _What's he doing here?_ "You . . . I remember meeting you now. And dealing with you a few times. But what brings you _here_?"

"Lost your observant nature while behind bars? You bring me here, obviously . . . That, and I was really hungry," Dryden conceded.

"What do you want with me?" Van asked, slight contempt resounding in his words.

Dryden raised a brow. "Jail must be a very tough place,--" _No shit, Sherlock.__"--_or were you always like this? Well, anyway, I was going to offer you the position of, say, title searcher, which I believe you used to be, but I guess you don't want it?"

Van's eyes never left Dryden's as he tried to compose himself. "No, I'm very interested," Van heard himself say quietly. "It's just all so sudden . . . When can I start?" _All so _very, very _sudden . . ._

"Whenever you want," Dryden laughed. "As fast as you can ditch this place."

"Consider me fired by the end of the day," Van said seriously. Dryden's eyebrows rose slightly, impressed by Van's call to action, and a bit bemused by the fact that Van planned on getting _fired,_ not _quitting_.

Handing Van a business card, Dryden got up and began walking away. "Then I'll see you tomorrow, eh?" He was just about to walk out the door when Van's voice stopped him.

"Do you trust me?"

Dryden gave a little wave. "I dunno, are you to be trusted?"

oOo

The smell of sickness hovered in the air, everywhere, inescapable no matter which corridor you ran down. Nurses, doctors, and researchers walk around in their pure white lab coats, although underneath they are impure, tainted with death and carcinogens. A woman walks by, just an ordinary woman, until you notice the lump in her side; she's dying. Doctors walk into laboratories where amputated body parts sit in the sink; they never give it a second thought.

This was the place where Hitomi spent her days working as the manager of the Immunohistochemistry Department. Normally she retained a calm, controlled, levelheaded, and friendly atmosphere; but for the past week she seemed a little . . . out of whack.

"Excuse me, miss, could you help me?" a male voice asked from behind Hitomi, startling her out of her thoughts, almost causing her to drop the slides she'd been carrying. She turned around swiftly, confronted by a handsome young man of no more than twenty-five. He had dirty blond hair with clear gray eyes and an innocent, apologetic smile. He obviously didn't work at the cancer center; he wore a blue, long-sleeved fleece jacket and khaki pants. Hitomi stared at him quizzically. _How did he get up here?_

"Ah, I'm sorry, I seem to have startled you. But I'm a little lost . . . Could you help me find the front desk? I have an appointment soon . . ."

"Yes, of course," Hitomi said as cheerfully as she could. "Here, I'll take you the shorter route." She led him a little further down the hallway before opening a door labeled _Employees Only_. She began to walk across the room when she noticed the young man wasn't following; his eyes were fixed on the sink.

_Oh shit-- . . ._

"Is that a . . . leg?" he asked, trying his best to keep a straight face. Hitomi, however, pushed him out the door as quickly as possible, away from the nauseating sight.

"_I'm so sorry!_" Hitomi exclaimed, grabbing his hand and leading him towards to elevator. "I completely forgot that . . . that . . . was in there."

"It-it's okay," he stuttered, clearly shaken by what he'd seen. _I hope he doesn't have bone cancer_, Hitomi thought, _I pray to God he doesn't have bone cancer!__Oh, what does it matter? He's going to have nightmares for the rest of his life and it's all my fault!_

"The front desk is on the right, okay?" Hitomi said hurriedly, flashing the best smile she could manage as she walked off, waving. "Have a nice day!" _If you can . . ._ she called as the elevator doors closed.

"Who was that?"

Hitomi jumped, almost dropping her slides for a second time, at the sound of Allen's voice. Carrying a clipboard and donned in a lab coat, Hitomi always found Allen-gone-doctor to look quite handsome; today, however, she could only think of how badly he'd scared the crap out of her.

"I don't know," Hitomi murmured, walking down the hall towards her destination, avoiding Allen's gaze. "Some lost patient."

"A patient up here?" Allen asked incredulously. _You're one to talk . . . the only reason you come down this wing is to see me, Doctor Schezar,_ Hitomi thought sarcastically

"Yeah . . ." Hitomi said softly. Stopping and taking her hand in his, Allen kissed Hitomi softly. Hitomi blushed, always embarrassed when Allen displayed signs of affection at work, but never-the-less relaxed at his touch.

"Stop thinking about him," Allen said sternly before heading in the opposite direction.

_Don't you understand that I can't?_

oOo

"I did as you asked," he whispered quietly into the receiver, his voice shaking.

_"And? Tell me what you observed, please . . ."_

oOo

_Why am I such a motherfucking bastard?_

Van watched the girl as she re-dressed herself hastily, scrutinizing her. _I can't believe I just fucked this . . ._thing. _That's all she is, really, a _thing. _Not a girl, not a woman, just a disease-ridden, ugly, good-for-nothing pushover of a toy, getting dressed in a hurry to go sucker some other loser like me out of his money for a lame-ass hour of sex. _Van's jaw clenched. _What is wrong with me, what the hell is wrong with me?_

Crossing the room fully dressed in clothes that screamed **I AM A PROSTITUTE, I'LL SCREW ANYTHING IF IT PAYS ME **(_such ugly clothes these _things_ wear_), the girl gave Van a seductive kiss, devoid of all true feeling, allowing her hands to explore his body one last time. "You sure were tons of fun tonight. I haven't had so much fun in a long while. Let's do this again sometime, baby."

Smiling sadistically, Van replied in a mock friendly tone. "Get the fuck out of my house. Please."

The girl seemed startled by Van's hostility, but she obeyed, walking hurriedly out the front door. Van sighed as he leaned against the headboard. Moonlight poured in through the window behind him, forming an elongated shadow. Looking around the room, Van felt as if he were, again, plunged into a pit of loneliness. Staring at his hands, his filthy hands, he knew that was why he had sought out that girl. He hated having to concentrate on his own thoughts. On his own life. He hated being alone in the darkness.

Getting out of bed, Van turned on the shower. It was already past eleven o'clock, and although he knew he had to be at work no later than seven (he'd only been working at the _Crusade_ for a week, and he knew it would be bad form if he showed up late) he took a long, hot shower to ease his mind. Unfortunately, it had no such affect.

Four. That's how many girls Van had done in the past week and a half, and each fling, even though three of them had been with innocent girls who had actually wanted something more afterwards, resulted in increasing anger. Turning off the shower, Van toweled off, standing in the bathroom doorway, looking at his serene, empty room. There was no one to talk to; there hadn't been for over five years. Van had no friends, no one to love, no--

_I feel so lonely._

_Why don't I date someone? Then maybe I wouldn't feel this way . . ._ But as Van stood over his bedside table, he knew exactly why he couldn't date, couldn't commit, couldn't fall in love; he knew it was impossible, as he caressed the gift he'd given Hitomi so long ago, marveling at how smooth the jewel felt to his touch. He unraveled the chain, grateful that, over the past years, it retained the same beauty it had when he'd bought it. He remembered how happy Hitomi had looked upon receiving the pendant; how her eyes sparkled and, with a smile, she leaned in to kiss him. A small, sad smile played on Van's lips as he snapped out of his revere, glancing at the ring and picture on his bed stand.

"Hitomi," he said quietly to himself, pronouncing each syllable slowly, feeling the name roll off his tongue with the ease that comes with mastering anything. He played with the pendant in his hand, continuing to talk to himself as if she were there, "You shouldn't have given this back to me. It's yours. Full of happy memories, just like you want. That's what you want, right? It's what you _wanted, _anyway . . . I wish I could give it back to you," Van paused, turning to gaze out the window at something far in the distance. "Hitomi . . . where are you?" he asked, finally laying down, chuckling to himself. "I must be tired, talking to myself . . ."

_Or I'm just a fucking head-case._

_This is me pretending_

_This is all I need._

_And I give it all away_

_Just to have somewhere to go to_

_Give it all away_

_To have someone to come home to_

oOo

"Van, you're such a hard worker!" Dryden chuckled, strutting into Van's tiny office. Van continued typing on his computer, glancing up for only a moment at his boss, who held a few papers in his hands.

"Thank you, Mr. Fassa," Van replied unenthusiastically.

"You can just call me Dryden, you know, no need for the formality," Dryden laughed again. _This guy laughs too much_, Van thought, unamused by Dryden's antics. Silence ensued as Dryden watched Van type away at his computer, waiting for him to say something. When nothing came, Dryden sighed, rubbing his eyes with his index finger and thumb in that _Jesus Christ, what am I gonna do with you?_ way. Placing the papers down sharply, Dryden turned off Van's computer monitor. Only then did the new employee, with a solemn look, turn to face his boss.

"Yes, Mr. Fassa?" Van asked innocently.

Dryden snorted. "Maybe you work a little too hard . . . Anyway, you've seemed a bit down this past week."

"How so?"

"Well, the week before you were so full of pep, now you just look . . . down."

_I've only been here for two weeks, how the hell would _you_ know if I was down . . . _Van gave a weak smile, one that never reached his ruby eyes, which appeared distant and clouded. "No, I'm fine."

"Like hell you're fine," Dryden snorted, brushing his ponytail away from his face. "Come on, Van, you can tell me, since it seems you have no one else to tell."

_Way to hit the nail on the head, asshole. I knew you weren't that observant. _Stubbornly, Van looked away, fiddling with the cuffs of his navy blue shirt as if they were the most interesting thing in the world (most certainly in the room). Satisfied that his cuff was perfect, Van swiveled back to his computer, aiming to turn on the flat-screen monitor. Dryden's hand, however, stopped him.

"Tell me," Dryden said nonchalantly.

"No."

"What, family issues? Girl problems? Tell me!"

_Is this guy making educated guesses, or purposefully acting like a fucking retard just to piss me off? Because if that's the case, it's _working. "It's none of your business, Mr. Fassa," Van replied curtly, eyes roaming everywhere but at the figure of his boss. In truth, deep down, Van wanted to tell Dryden how he felt; but the ex-convict was far too hard to just come out and say his mind.

The bland, grayish granite walls created a stuffy atmosphere. Around the two, phones went off, voices mixed into a melting pot of noise, people walked briskly up and down the hallway. A cycle that never stopped. But Van noticed none of it, as he sat in silence, trapped in his little office. No, really, the office wasn't there, either: Van was trapped in his own little world, with Dryden intruding.

"Is it your ex-wife?" Dryden asked lowly.

"I said I don't fucking want to talk about it," Van growled, viciously turning his computer monitor back on. "Mr. Fassa."

Dryden smiled coyly. "Oh, but I think you already have. Don't fret, though." His figure stood silhouetted in the doorway as he prepared to walk out; instead, he looked over his shoulder and said, "And I told you to stop calling me Mr. Fassa. It pisses me off."

** Two Hours Later **

He stared at the paper in disbelief. It wasn't even a full piece of paper, more like the corner of a page of looseleaf, yet it meant more to Van than all the hundreds of thousands of papers he'd dealt with in his whole life time. That's, of course, if it was real. If the paper spoke the truth. _Dryden . . . You fucking bastard . . . Where'd you get Hitomi's address, huh? Do you stalk her? I don't think I could forgive stalking. _Holding the paper directly in front of his face, Van chuckled. _Who cares? _Slowly, however, Van's smile faded away to a look of utter despair.

_What the hell do I do now?_

oOo

_Van, what are you doing now? _Hitomi wondered as she watched Allen's chest rise and fall steadily. Snuggling closer to him, Hitomi chided herself. _Thinking of Van when Allen is the one sleeping next to me, keeping me warm and safe. How stupid. Van wasn't even there for me half of the time. So why do I keep _thinking_ about him? I hope he feels the same loneliness I felt when he wasn't there. I hope he's suffering. And I hope he's thinking of me, too._

Hitomi blushed at the thought. Why would she want Van to think of her, too? She had Allen now, sweet, charming, handsome Allen, who would never leave her side for some other woman, who was smart enough not to become addicted to drugs, who wouldn't hurt her.

With a smile, Hitomi hovered over Allen's sleeping figure, whispering an "I love you," before capturing his lips.

oOo

He turned off the engine and sat there. Just sat there. Staring at nothing. Thinking of everything. Why he came. What compelled him. What he should do now. How cold it was. How she would react. How he would respond. Whether he could back out. Why he was just sitting there. How he would feel afterwards. Whether or not he would ever see her again. _Whether . . . Why . . . How . . . What . . ._ How it didn't matter. How he would never know unless . . .

Van got out of his car, locked it, then started walking towards the apartment building on autopilot. _I hope this building doesn't have a great security force. Although, I'd think Hitomi'd want to live somewhere with as much security from me as possible. Ah, what the hell, too much thinking! _He chided himself as he held open the door for an elderly citizen and slipped inside. _Well, that was easy . . . but I think I've seen this on the news, where some lunatic robbed an old lady by sneaking into an apartment complex, _Van thought, trying to calm his heartbeat by laughing; it wasn't working.

_821, 821, 821,_ Van repeated over and over, jogging up all eight flights of steps (he figured it'd be safer than taking the elevator). He wandered the halls slowly, taking in the tranquil surroundings, dimly lit with the occasional window and fake plant, offset by tan walls. Despite the setting, Van felt everything but peaceful as he wondered, _what am I going to say?_

Outside the room, Van hesitated. _Should I really do this? Will she even answer the door? _Taking a deep breath, Van knocked. Inside, he heard shuffling. Just on the other side, Hitomi spoke, in that voice Van had so longingly wanted to hear. Cheerfully, she asked, "Who is it?" as she opened the door-

And stood face to face with the one person she never expected to see again.

**AN: I finally finished it! (I don't know why I say 'finally,' I didn't exactly start this chapter that long ago.) So . . . I'm kinda playing around with a new style, where it's third person, but you get a lot of direct character thoughts (as you could see). What do you think of it? It some ways, it makes things easier, as I don't have to describe what the character's feeling. In some ways, it makes things harder, because I feel I'm not being as descriptive as I could be. But eh, that's what happens when I mess around with my writing style. **

**And Van's a funny one, isn't he? (He's got such a foul mouth, too . . . yeah, that just kinda happened!) Oh yeah, and I meant to write that one random paragraph in present tense . . . it's not a grammar mistake, heh.**

**Thanks to:**

_Pure hope, mysisterisasquijum, Inda, Clemence, fireangel621, kmmgirly, Warrior of Silence, Cev, mysisterthinksimasquijum, Missing White Wings 15, Monty_

**You guys make my day(s).**

**Don't forget to review!**

**Luff,**

**Spirit0**


	4. Too Late to Apologize

Something I Missed

**AN: Now that I have completed "Last Stop," this story will be my first priority (perhaps tied with "Life in Moderation"). Hm . . . I reread the beginning . . . and was like, "wow . . . THIS SUCKS . . . I have to make up for this poorly written beginning with a kick ass third chapter." So, this is my attempt to write a really kick ass third chapter :P. (AFTER MORE THAN A YEAR . . .) **

Chapter Three: Too Late to Apologize

She tried to slam the door in his face, like in movies and books and stupid fictional things like that, but he yet again made it painfully clear that her life wasn't picturesquely cliché. Reacting on instinct, he kept the door open with his forearm, straining against it. In this instant, one thought ran through both of their minds.

_Fuck._

Panic overtook her as she leaned against the door with her entire body, trying frantically to push it closed, to push him away. _Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, why is he here, how does he know where I live, how did he get here, what does he want, shit, he's going to kill me, he's going to beat me senseless and then rape me and kill me, and oh my God, I can't close the door, why won't the fucking door close, please dear God, help me . . . _But for all these rushed thoughts, for all the rushed beats of her heart, her voice wasn't all that loud, "Get away! I don't want to see you! I don't want to see you ever again! Leave me _alone!_"

The way she said it pained him, as though he were some deathly contagious disease . . . only worse. _What the fuck am I doing? Not only does she hate my guts, but she's scared to death of me. Was she always this scared? Were her words and actions back then just a front? Of course they were, you fucking idiot! _As he stared at his arm against the door, muscles taut and veins popping, he realized he was only making his situation worse, and slowly released pressure on the door, allowing it to close quietly. On the other side, he heard three separate locks click into place.

She ran and grabbed the phone, then made her way back to the door slowly, wondering what he was doing out there. For a few moments, there was only silence.

"Hitomi . . ."

"Van Fanel," she said lowly, trying not to reveal her fear any further or cause a disturbance. "Get the fuck away from me before I call the fucking police on your fucking ass! How did you find me, anyway? Are you a fucking stalker now, too? What the hell do you want? How the fuck did you get in here? Get the hell away!"

_I'm screwed._ "Hitomi, I'm not here to hurt you . . . I--"

"Like hell!" she said, sinking to the floor as she leaned against the door with a bitter laugh. "If you didn't want to hurt me, you'd leave me the hell alone! Why can't you do that? Why can't you see that your freaking _presence_ hurts me?"

He sighed as he leaned against the door, taking a deep breath and wondering what to do. _Dammit, why couldn't I remember how badly I'd hurt her before I got here? What am I supposed to say? It doesn't matter what I say. Well, yes it does. Obviously if I said, "I'm going to fucking blow your head off," that wouldn't be good, right? Well, duh. That's not funny. That's not funny at all. _"I'm sorry," was all he said.

"You're sorry, huh?" she mocked bitterly. _This door between us, it's like a physical encapsulation of the barrier between our hearts. _"Sorry for what, Van? Sorry for coming here and stalking me? Sorry for cheating on me? Sorry for being a jackass? Sorry for ruining our marriage? What are you sorry for?!"

"For all of it," he said, glancing down the hallway, a bit on edge because of the surreal feeling, and because he didn't want to be caught talking to her like this.

"You can't just say you're sorry to me and expect it to mean something. Your words don't mean a damn thing to me!" she said, clutching the phone against her breast so hard that her knuckles turned white. _Why haven't I called the police yet? Why am I letting him say these things to me? Why hasn't anyone passed by yet? Why is this happening to me?_

"I'm sorry," he repeated, clenching his fists in anger at himself. "I just came here to give you back your pendant. That's all."

"That's all, huh? Are you sure you didn't want to give me a bullet to the brain while you're at it?" she asked with another dark laugh.

_It's no different than the cruel, sarcastic jokes that we used to throw at each other. But it's not funny anymore. Not if I were to say it. No, then I'd just be a bastard . . . an even bigger bastard. Actually, I'm not sure that's even possible. _"I'm sure," he said. "I don't want to argue with you. I'll just leave the pendant."

"I don't want your stupid pendant," she growled.

"It's _your_ pendant," he insisted.

"No!"

"Yes!" he persisted, saddened that they were bickering, through a door, like children. "Hitomi, you may not love me anymore-- hell, you clearly hate my guts-- but it's still your pendant. Just because I'm a jackass doesn't change that. I wasn't a jackass when I gave it to you, was I? We were happy then. Take it and remember the happy things." He drew the pendant out of his pocket and left it on the floor directly outside her door, outside her shell, so that all she would have to do was come out and snatch it before seeking protection again. Solemnly, he walked away.

Hitomi let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. _Is he really gone? Did he really leave the pendant? Why? Why does he care? Why does he pretend like he loved me? This is why I hate him!_ She sighed. He'd always been double sided. One moment he'd be sweet, the kind of guy girls fantasize about, and the next, he'd turn into a completely cold, insensitive jerk, his eyes flamed with anger. He'd romanticized her with his charming side, and then he'd left her in the dark to fend for herself . . . against him.

Minutes passed. She watched them tick away on the clock on her phone. Only when ten minutes had gone by did she dare open the door, with the chain still connected. There was no one outside. She looked down. There lay the pendant. Deftly, she picked it up, closed the door, and locked it again. Then she stared at the cold stone. It was just as she remembered it. _Only it's not happy . . . how I can ever see happiness in it again? The pink only reminds me of innocence meeting blood, of how you got lost somewhere in between. The tear shape only reminds me of how I cried for you.__What comfort can I find in its coldness?_

_I'd take another chance, take a fall, take a shot for you _

_And I need you like a heart needs a beat _

_But I'm afraid_

_It's too late to apologize, it's too late_

_I said it's too late to apologize, it's too late_

oOo

"So, how'd it go?" Dryden asked nonchalantly, striding through the door as though entering the house of a good buddy throwing a party rather than the office of an employee. But Van treated him like a good buddy, despite the environment, by ignoring his employer, because_ this guy needs to learn how to fuck off . . ._

"Not going to talk to me?" Dryden pressed, leaning against the wall as he fixed his tie. "And I even gave you her address, too . . ."

"Leave me the hell alone so I can do my work for you so you can get rich and I can at least survive in this goddamn overpriced, materialistic world," Van growled. "Please."

"Okay, okay, sheesh, are you really always this touchy?" Dryden asked, more to himself than to Van, as he pushed off the wall. Okay, scratch the whole "good buddy" bit.

Dryden's chocolate brown eyes darkened as soon as he left Van's office. Oh yes, the new employee had a smart mouth alright, one that hardly ever talked (at least to him), that hardly ever said what it really meant, yet summed up everything so perfectly. But Dryden Fassa needed more than a summary. It was one of just many reasons to hate Van Fanel. _Your bitter response tells me it didn't go well for you. That's new, isn't it? If only you could see straight through those pretty maroon eyes of yours. Then maybe you'd learn. _Then he smiled his good-natured smile as he passed his other employees, making his way to his office.

"Dryden, where have you been?" came the voice of his partner in the game of life. Standing in their office with her arms crossed, dressed in her best business attire, her lavender eyes bored into his in all seriousness, but with a hint of playfulness that always lingered. Her flowing blond hair reflected the sunlight streaming through the window, causing her appearance to be shadowed. He found it appealing.

"Where do you think I've been? Working hard, of course!" he said playfully and giving her a quick kiss on the lips. She, however, didn't seem amused.

"No, seriously Dryden, where have you been?"

He gave her a fake pout. "No, seriously Millerna, why do you always have to be so serious?"

"Dryden!" she cried, exasperated.

His mood changed instantly, the smile whipped off his face, his eyes hard and determined. He stood close to Millerna, looking her straight in the eye, and only then did the semblance of a smile adorn his lips once more. "I need you to talk to him," he whispered, leaning in closer, so that even the imaginary people in the room couldn't hear what he had to say. "He'll talk to you. I know he will. He likes women. Especially pretty women."

She glared at him, and spoke in the same hushed tone as he. "Don't get me involved in this. This is your problem. And what kind of man sends his wife to talk to another man that her husband just described as a womanizer?"

"He's not _really_ a womanizer; he's just . . . a little . . . okay, very, lost. And besides, he only wants Hitomi Kanzaki at the moment. So why don't you give him some advice on how to win her back? You always were a romantic," he said quietly, brushing his lips with hers in a fleeting kiss. Backing away, he laughed at her angry and flustered face. "Come on, honey, do it for me, because I love you!"

"Do you?"

oOo

He couldn't stop thinking about her, about how she'd looked in that instant when their eyes had met just after she'd opened the door. She'd been so . . . innocently happy. Her green eyes had sparkled like he'd remembered in their teenage years, strong, able to withstand adversity. She'd kept her hair straight and to the shoulders, just like she used to; and why not, it'd always worked for her. He liked it that way. She'd been wearing jeans—she'd always been one of those girls that looked really good in jeans-- and a light, white long sleeved shirt. Simplicity. She'd always liked simplicity.

_And then it all melted away when she realized I was there-- her smile, the brightness in her eyes, her entire composed look. I could feel the matureness about her, how she'd aged in the past five years-- but that disappeared, too. Our years together, they meant nothing. All except the last . . . the last . . . Dammit . . !_

"Van Fanel?" came a female voice from the doorway. He pretended it didn't annoy him that someone had come to bother him while he'd been deep in thought. This was his office, after all.

"Yes?" he asked politely, yet curtly.

"May I speak with you?" she asked, remaining in the doorway.

He glanced at her, never turning his head, never stopping his typing, but noting that she was attractive. Wearing a gray suit jacket and skirt, one that was short but not too short, contrasted with a purple-- _no, no, _lavender, _God forbid I mention any color within ROYGBIV . . . wait, purple isn't even included in that . . . why the fuck am I thinking this crap?--_ shirt that accentuated her eyes, with high heels to boot, Van found her to be one of those blonds who would say _if you make one stupid blond joke, I'll have to kill you._ "I'm listening."

She took that as an invite to step into the room. "I suppose I should introduce myself. I'm Millerna Fassa. It's nice to meet you," she said, leaning against the wall just as Dryden had.

Van swiveled around in his chair. _Oh, that bastard, he doesn't give up, does he? And wow . . . what does such a good looking girl like this want with that scraggly man?_ "I take it you're Dryden's wife sent here to find out all the details that I wouldn't tell Dryden, right?"

She smiled coyly at him, still not completely convinced that he was _not_ a womanizer, but deciding to play the slightly seductive card anyway. "You're rather perceptive."

"Hm . . . I've always been quick. Not smart. Just quick," he said, leaning back in his chair, amused.

"But Dryden is worried about you. Won't you tell me? Maybe I can help you," she said, putting on a sympathetic front.

Van stared. Not at her, exactly, but he stared, and wondered. _Why is Dryden so interested in my love life? I'm pretty sure that's not a normal employer/employee relationship. But he did get me her address. And I do want Hitomi back. But I don't see how that's even possible at this point . . . But women know what other women want, right? Sure. It's that feminine mystique sort of thing._

"She hates me," he murmured, his eyes focusing on a point on the wall.

"I'd hate you, too, if I were her."

He laughed darkly. "Oh, I hate me, too. I hate me to the core. But I don't care. As long as I can get her to stop hating me."

"What did you do to make her hate you so much?" she asked quizzically.

Van glanced the other way, at another spot on the wall. "Things you should pray Dryden never does to you."

"Then why did you do them?"

_That's the essential question, isn't it? But I can't tell you. It's so . . . _"It's none of your business what I did or why I did it," he growled. "All that matters is who I am and what I do _now_. I want her to stop hating me. I want to believe in second, or third, or a million chances. But I don't know . . . if I can ever make her stop hating me." He looked at Millerna then, looked her straight in the eye. "I don't know how I can make her fall in love with me again." He laughed, a genuine laugh. "It was hard enough the first time."

She smiled at him. "Just prove it."

oOo

She didn't tell him. No, she _couldn't_ tell him. What's to tell? He didn't need to know. It didn't concern him. So why bother thinking about it? _If I tell him, he'll overreact, and think about drastic things like moving or something. I don't want that. I don't need that. I'm perfectly fine. I'm strong. I survived being with him for . . . eight years, if we want to go back that far. That's more than a quarter of my entire life. And I'm a big girl now. I can take care of myself . . ._

_Oh, who the fuck am I kidding?_

"Hitomi?"

She stopped walking down the corridor, startled out of her thoughts. "Allen, you scared me . . ."

"Hitomi, you've . . . you've been out of it," he said quietly, his sky blue eyes etched with concern, pieces of his hair falling into his face. She thought he was the perfect sexy doctor, and wondered what his female patients thought of him; but she only thought this to distract herself from thoughts of Van.

Smiling, she put up the _nothing is the matter!_ front. "I'm okay. I'm just tired. And hungry. I was just about to go to lunch, so . . ."

"Don't lie to me," he whispered lowly. "Why won't you talk to me? I can't help you if you won't talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about," she said defensively.

"I don't appreciate you lying to my face, Hitomi," he hissed.

"Look, Allen . . . Can we talk later? I'm really hungry, and . . . now isn't the time or the place anyway, right? Please?" she begged, putting on her pouting face that always made him feel guilty. _Just like with . . ._

"Promise to talk to me later," he said, glancing around before catching her lips in a seductive kiss. "Promise me . . ." he said before kissing her again.

"I promise . . ." she whispered, backing away coyly, running a finger over his lips.

"I love you," he said.

"I know you do."

oOo

It only rang once before someone picked up. "Listen to me . . ."

oOo

He should have just gone to _Quiznos_. Seriously, all he wanted was to have a sandwich and eat it in peace. But no, instead he'd gone to . . . he didn't even know. A _Kosi_ or a _Panera_, or some other soup and sandwich chain thing that tried to have the small cafe feel about it, yet felt more to him like something created by a warped modern artist and _feng shui_ expert, and thus taken over by teenagers and other wackos who were always trying to be cool. _I just wanted to have a fucking sandwich and hear myself think . . ._

But he stayed in line and waited. He didn't know why. But he did. _Well, every other place will be crowded by now, too, so why leave? I've been standing here like an idiot for like ten minutes anyway. Where the hell am I gonna sit . . ? _He placed his order for a turkey and cheese sandwich-- _probably seems so generic to all these lunatics_-- and waited. This is why buying lunch was stupid. Too much waiting. _And now I'm gonna go sit at one of those tables that seem like a waste of a table because they're that damn small._

He looked around. There were no free places. Well, there were free _places_, but he'd have to share with some other loser like him who'd come to lunch alone. _Well, if I'm gonna do that, then I have to find a woman . . . and someone who doesn't recognize my face from television. That would make everything less awkward._ Wandering towards the corner of the restaurant, he froze when he saw who sat there.

She was reading a book. That seemed so typical to him, that she could read, eat lunch, and block out all the noise at the same time. Even though she was obviously just on a break, donned in scrubs, she seemed not to have a care in the world. Which . . . sort of hurt him. She seemed very focused on the book, turning the page. _She hasn't been thinking of me like I've been thinking of her . . . What should I do? I could easily just turn around and save her the misery. I don't want her to freak out. And yet . . ._

"Excuse me, miss, but all the tables are taken, and I was just wondering . . . may I sit with you?" he asked politely.

_No. Fucking. Way._

She'd been in the middle of putting a chip in her mouth and reading a juicy sentence, when she heard his voice and froze, and not in the way that she used to. No, she didn't freeze because she'd longed to hear his voice, but because of the fact that he even happened to be there scared the hell out of her. She lowered the chip to her plate, closed her book, and, without even looking at him, made a move to leave.

"You could just say 'no, Van Fanel, you may not sit with me, you motherfucking bastard,' you know. Or even a simple 'no' would suffice. But you don't have to run away," he said lowly, so that no one else would hear. "To which I would say 'pretty please, Hitomi Kanzaki, we really need to talk,' because I know you know I'm not going to do anything to you."

"And what do I say after that?" she asked, sitting on the edge of the booth, staring at him as he stood there, silhouetted by various other individuals, carrying his lunch, all dressed in his business suit, looking as innocent and attractive as could be.

"You say, after a slight hesitation, 'okay, Van Fanel, sit down, and we'll talk.'"

She smiled evilly while shaking her head, sliding back into the booth. With as much civil grit as she could muster, she said, "Okay, Van Fanel, sit down, and we'll talk, because I know you're not stupid enough to finger fuck me, or whatever the hell worse things you secretly fantasize doing to me, in public."

He nodded his head in admiration, setting down his lunch on the table and sitting across from her. "Thank you. I liked your version better."

"Thanks," she said sarcastically.

Silence ensued as he took a sip of his iced tea, all the while her eyes following his movements, as if at any moment he might come truly alive and attack. Even as he began to eat his sandwich, she couldn't take her eyes away, watching him take small bites as he looked at his sandwich as though entranced by it. She watched him chew and swallow, until the movement of his lips and throat drove her crazy enough so that she had to say something.

"I thought you wanted to talk?" she asked, drumming her fingers on the table and glaring at him out of the corner of her eye.

"I do . . . But I don't know where to begin. Why don't you think of something to say?" he asked, taking another bite of his sandwich and chewing slowly.

"What are you doing here?"

"Same thing that you're doing here. Eating lunch."

"Are you stalking me?" she asked lowly.

"No," he said, smiling. "Maybe it was fate that brought us here. Maybe our life-threads are forever intertwined."

"Oh, please, save it," she said scornfully.

Van put down his sandwich. _She's so cute when she gets mad . . . _"Don't lie to me, Hitomi. I know you believe in fate and/or destiny and love at first sight and true love and all that stuff. I know you're a hopeless romantic. Look--" he spun the book around so he could read the title and author-- "You're even reading _Divided in Death_ by J.D. Robb. Isn't that just Nora Robert's pseudonym?"

"Shut up," she growled.

"No," he said, taking another casual sip of his drink. "You said so yourself, I sat here to talk. So I'm talking. How are you?"

"I was a lot better before you came."

"I'll bet . . ." he said, with a forced laugh. _The words you say, they're ruthless in their cutting . . ._ "How's work?"

"Fine."

"It's been just fine for the past five years?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Yes." _I won't let you in._

"Hm . . ." he murmured to himself, knowing exactly what he wanted to ask, yet knowing that he didn't want to know the answer. "I see you're not wearing a ring . . . Or did you take it off for work?" _I don't want to know the answer!_

"I'm not married," she said coldly. "But I have a boyfriend." _So hop off._

"Oh, well . . . that's bad enough," he said. _Dammit, of course, Hitomi's too good looking even in scrubs to pass up._ He couldn't think of what to say next, because he couldn't get over it.

This amused her as she leaned on the table, smiling her evil smile. "What's the matter, Van? Does it bother you that I'm somebody else's bitch now?"

Their eyes met, and she remembered how they used to lose themselves in each other for hours, which sent a guilty and desirous pang through her body. "Truthfully . . . it does. Especially if you're his _bitch._ That would mean he's an asshole."

"Trust me, nobody can be a bigger asshole than you," she said icily.

"Too true." _Yes, yes, keep flinging your insults at me, keep them coming, because I deserve them, and if they help rid you of your hate, then I can take it._ He leaned on the table as well, so they could both speak even lower than they were before, like lovers sharing secrets and stealing kisses . . . except not like that at all. "So . . . have you boned him yet?"

Hitomi smiled coyly, actually enjoying watching Van squirm. Oh, her having a boyfriend, she knew it bothered him to no end—for he'd been the only one. The only one. Stupid her. "Of course! Over and over and over and _over_ again." She could see the turmoil in his eyes growing with each successive _over_.

He tapped the table in annoyance. "Uh huh. I see." _Glad you're having fun . . . _He smiled, putting on his best mask. "Is he better than me?"

She smiled mischievously, leaning on her elbow and tapping her lip with her index finger in a way that he found very alluring. "Let's see . . . how should I say this . . ? Hm . . . He makes you look like a 14 year old who learned by humping a tree."

"You're very articulate today," he said with a laugh. _DAMMIT, she REALLY hates my fucking guts! I can't just sit here and take this crap . . ._ "But that's definitely not what you said when we were, let's see . . ." he said, imitating her, "seventeen, or eighteen, or nineteen, or twenty, or twenty one . . ."

"That's because I didn't know any better," she said bitterly. "And besides," she added lightly, "after five years in jail, you probably have the biggest case of blue balls ever."

_What the fuck was I thinking when I decided to bring up subjects that involve my and other men's genitalia giving my ex-wife clitoral satisfaction?_ He decided it would definitely _not_ win him points by mentioning his one night stands/purchasing of prostitutes. "Anyway . . . how long have you been with him?"

She made her smile wider. "What's the matter, Van Fanel, did I make you feel insecure in your manhood?" He tried not to flinch. "Anyway . . ." she said, imitating him back, "we've been together for four years."

"And he hasn't asked you to marry him yet? What a fucking retard," he retorted.

To this, Hitomi said nothing. _I don't want to get into that with you . . . not now . . . not ever . . ._

By her lack of response, he knew she was uncomfortable. He could've said something clever to get back at her, but he didn't. He wanted to show her that he was a respectable jackass. "Did you have any boyfriends in the first year?" he asked quietly.

"Yes . . . a few," she said; then, added quickly. "And for the record, I did them quiet a few times, too."

_Way to rub it in._ "I see . . ." was all he said, before turning away with a far off look in his eyes. Her words, they'd hurt . . . a lot. What had he been expecting? But he was supposed to be the tough guy. Tough, hockey playing Van. Yes. That used to be him. Tears were for cowards and girls and babies. Romance was for guys who sat around and wrote poetry all day, and wouldn't know how to get laid if their life depended on it. That was his mentality. _Until I met you, and went through everything just to be with you._

She tried to be happy for hurting him, but she was too nice an individual. If he had started this petty conversation, she had certainly finished it. But he deserved it. He deserved it, didn't he? This was his punishment. She used to believe all guys were jerks. She used to believe that she would never fall in love, even though she was addicted to romance novels, and wanted to believe in true love. _Then you turned it upside down and right side up again within eight years . . . Why couldn't you keep it upside down?_

"How was jail?" she asked quietly, as though trying to venture on some safe ground.

He turned to her, but didn't say anything,and she was amazed to see an overwhelming sadness in his eyes. His eyes, they made her feel guilty. And that angered her. Because he was messing with her again. _I won't fall for your little games!_

"Too good for you, I guess," she said hotly.

"Where's the pendant?" he asked.

"None of your business."

He sighed. "Do you really hate me that much?" he asked solemnly.

"Of course," she replied automatically. _Maybe . . ._

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"I told you sorry doesn't cut it!" she hissed. By then she was flipping through her book, stopping on the first page, perusing it quickly. Then she handed it to him.

"Read the first three paragraphs," she said. Hesitantly, he obeyed.

_"Lying, cheating son of a _bitch! _She wanted him to snivel and beg and plead and slither on his belly like the gutter rat he was. She wanted him to bleed from his ears, to scream like a girl. She wanted to twist his adulterous dick into knots while he shrieked for the mercy she'd never give._

_"She wanted to pound his fists into his beautiful liars face until it was a pulpy, pustulating mass of blood and bone._

_"_Then, _only then, the dickless, faceless bastard could die. A slow, withering, agonizing death."_

He closed the book and looked at her. "That's how much you hate me?"

"Yes," she said quietly.

The look on his face as he got up from the table scared her, and she was truly afraid that he _would_ beat her in public. Instead, he simply stomped off to throw out his trash. _It's a lie. She doesn't hate my that much. I'll make her see . . . _He kept one of his napkins, and pulled out a pen, scribbling his message on it quickly, before she left. _I _will _make her see._

She shuddered as he took her hand and pressed the napkin into it. His hands were both rough and delicate, just as she'd remembered them. The fact that he was so close made her swallow hard, especially when he whispered in her ear.

"Stop pretending."

_I loved you with a fire red, now it's turning blue_

_These are my snow covered dreams_

_And you say "sorry," like the angel heaven let me think was you_

_This is me pretending_

_It's too late to apologize, it's too late_

_This is all I need_

_I said it's too late to apologize, it's too late_

oOo

**AN: . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I scare myself. Like . . . what? That wasn't supposed to happen AT ALL! Hm . . . I have to rate this fic as Mature now. For obvious reasons.**

**This just proves that I'm possessed when I write. As I wrote that whole snappy, sarcastic Van and Hitomi scene, my fingers kept typing, but I could hear the little voice in the back of my mind saying, "where is this coming from?? Stop! You have to stop!" But I couldn't stop. It portrays the characters as I want them to be portrayed . . . Yeah.**

**I like this much better than the other three chapters. I like the ambiguous pronouns. I like the wit. I like the secretiveness. Yes. Hm . . . I would go back and rewrite the first three chapters. But I feel it's not worth it.**

**And the song is "Apologize" by OneRepublic. If "My December" is Van's theme song in this, then "Apologize" is Hitomi's. At the end, it's a combination of both, switching off every other line, like they're calling out to each other at the same time. And I kinda didn't place the lyrics in successive order . . . but whatever.**

**So . . . I hope my slang is correct? I'm going off of what I've heard from radio/read in books and/or fanfics/what my friend who is definitely most likely to end up as a Playboy bunny has said to me, lol. Sorry if it's . . . incorrect and dated? Yeah. I hope my boyfriend never reads this. It makes me seem creepier than him XD (a lot creepier . . . since he's only creepy with other people.)**

**Thanks to: **_Inda, mysisterthinksimaquijim, TearStainedLife, f-zelda, aan, kiches-sarjilian, tigger093061, SnTAngel, yuki, killua, Kat-Tastrophe, Clemence, Pbee, FallenAngel18, RIPPP, Monty, Chocolate-Covered-Coffee-Beans, EscaPhan225, Faded Lilac_ **I hope you all continue to review . . .**

**-Spirit0**


	5. Won't Trust Me

Something I Missed

**AN: Wheeeeeee, fanfiction. What crack will happen in this chapter? I swear my ideas get more cracked up (and not in a funny ha ha way) as I get older. Oh crap, Harry Potter's on tv . . . Well, that's gonna be distracting . . . Oh man, movie four! Haven't seen that one! Crap! Meh. Fanfiction. (Oh no, the movie wasn't distracting, but the boyfriend and the friends until 2 AM, hm, that kinda was. . . .)**

Chapter Four: Won't Trust Me

_Saturday, lunch, 12 o'clock, Escaflowne Cafe_

She'd read the scribbled words over and over again on the now-crumbled scrap of napkin as though it were the key to unlocking some ancient mystery. Lunch. Saturday. _With Van Fanel . . . With _Van Fanel. _No_, she admonished the thought even as she read the note yet again before stuffing it hastily in the bottom of a kitchen drawer,_ it takes more than a date proposal written on a piece of napkin to win me over. Van, of all people, should know that. _Yet she found herself looking at the pendant around her neck. She'd been wearing it at lunch that day. But, of course, he'd been too unobservant to notice. _As usual._

Van and Allen . . . they encompassed two different ideologies. Van, he'd always been a jackass. She'd hated him from the start. And yet he had become her everything . . . he had made her believe that there's good in everyone, that people can change, that love exists, that there is meaning to life, that she could live happily ever after.

She was a sophomore in high school . . . _and he was a junior. A really popular junior. He had the most penalty minutes on the ice hockey team, had hair that every girl played with, had brown eyes tinted with some sort of rogue red. She didn't really know him, just that he existed. Anybody with any semblance of social skills knew his name. She'd pass him sometimes, in the hall, but he never noticed . . . right up until the moment that he did, until the moment when they were in the same badminton class. He took hitting birdies very seriously. He took hitting on her as a joke._

_"Yeah Hitomi, you hit that birdie."_

_. . ._

_"You hit that birdie _hard."

_She tried to never speak to him. Maybe a glare here and there, but she tried to never even acknowledge him. But he seemed to be everywhere. She had to walk past him at his locker. She had to see him in the cafeteria. She had to see him walking the halls between classes. She even had to see him in the bus lot. But still, she could walk past him without having to actually see him. But this time, this time she had to look right at him, had to play against him like she had a chance to beat him._

_"I will, thanks."_

_"I bet you will."_

_"That's kind of . . ."--she hit the birdie back to him-- "how you play badminton."_

_"You could just . . . let me win."_

_"You could just . . . shut your face."_

_"You're so touchie."_

_"No, you just . . . _wish _I was so touchie."_

_He chased the birdie but didn't hit it back. He smiled at her. "Whoa. That was out of bounds."_

_And then he bothered and bothered and bothered her, and loved her and loved her and loved her, and then . . _

And then it turned out to all be a lie. But how? And why? She never understood. She only knew it had something to do with his brother. His manipulative brother. His manipulative, jealous brother. She only knew that one day she and Van were discussing having children, and the next, he was smacking her across the face in a drunken rage.

_Why? How do I reconcile this? They're the same person. The one who hugs me and the one who abuses me. Why? _She had tried to separate them in her mind. There was the good one and the bad one. But the good one choose to be the bad one, and eventually the bad one won. She couldn't take it. She couldn't take him. She just couldn't take him back.

She tore up the note and watched the tiny pieces float slowly into the trash can.

oOo

_12:59:56_

_12:59:57_

_12:59:58_

_12:59:59_

_1:00:00_

He sipped his caffeine-filled coffee. It was his fourth cup, and his hand was beginning to shake. _I hate it. I hate when I can feel my heart racing at a million miles per fucking second. See, alcohol, it makes me lose my senses. I don't feel when I bump into freaking tables or walk into doors. I don't know how I got places. I don't know how I put that scratch across her face. Oh God . . . It's terrible. I'm a terrible person. I deserve having to hear my heart race so fast I'm afraid it will burst. I deserve that. _He took another sip.

_1:02:13_

The Cafe, it was full of younger people. High school and college students. Hanging out with friends. Courting each other. Wallowing in their emo-ness. Spiked hair, baggy clothes. Girls who like girls, guys who like guys. Girls trying to be guys, guys trying to be girls. And what was he in this crazy microcosm of crazies? Just an older creeper. A creeper watching them all from his table, sipping his coffee, having explicit dreams of foursomes. Threesomes didn't cut it for him.

_Why do I think of this crap? I've been here for a fucking hour. No, I've been here an hour and a half, because I got here a whole freaking half hour early. No, I've been here even longer than that. She's not coming. Why would she come? Because I wrote on a napkin a time and a place? It's exactly because it was me who wrote on that napkin. It's because I'm a no good son of a bitch. I really am. I deserve it. If I keep telling myself this, maybe one day I'll believe it._

_1:04:27_

The songs they were playing. This rap and whatever, the hits of today. He hadn't been listening before, but he needed to focus on something. And when he did, he found them pretty sad. Not because of their inappropriate content, or how that was affecting society, or how that in turn reflected upon society. No, he didn't think any of that over-analyzing bull shit. He thought they were sad just because they were sad, because they sounded sad. Or maybe he was just imposing his own feelings on to other people's creations. . . .

_Yeah, tell your boyfriend, _

_If he says he's got beef_

_That I'm a vegetarian and I ain't fucking scared of him!_

_She wants to touch me, woohoo!_

_She wants to love me, woohoo!_

_She'll never leave me, woohoo woohoohoohoo . . ._

_Don't trust a ho!_

_Never trust a ho!_

_Won't trust a ho!_

_Because the ho won't trust me . . ._

_1:08:37_

It was sickening not because the shallow "she wants to touch me" was first, not because it beat into your brain not to trust hos and therefore imposed an image upon most girls, no, it wasn't sickening because of its silly pun with beef and vegetarians, it wasn't even sickening because it did sound sad or because he found it pretty damn catchy or because it reminded him of how she had just wanted to love him and he was just a stupid, untrustworthy ho. Okay, maybe it was sickening because of that. It wasn't what the song said at all. But he was a stupid, untrustworthy ho and she had just wanted to love him. Or she had. Now she just wanted to run far, far, far away from him.

_What. The. Fuck._

He spotted her in the doorway and received a glare. He watched her walk over to him slowly. She didn't sit down when she reached the table. She just stood over him shaking her head before she seemed to grow tired of standing and sat down with a sigh.

"The hell, Van. It's almost one thirty."

"What's an extra hour and a half compared to five years?"

_Trapped. I'm always trapped by your fiery tongue. And you say it so seriously. This mask. You can take it on and off without anyone even noticing. Serious. Playful. Flirty. Sad. Regretful. You have a mask for every emotion, a mask that hides what you really feel. But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe the mask has become what you actually feel. Maybe nobody can know who you really are. Not even you._

_Don't trust a ho!_

_Never trust a ho!_

_Won't trust a ho!_

_Because the ho_

_Won't_

_Trust_

_Me_

"If you knew it was so late, then why did you come?"

"I wanted to prove that you didn't care enough to stick around."

_Your words really are so cold. It's like the one thing you have to defend yourself with. But that's what we were always good at, wasn't it? Flinging these words at each other. But I crossed a line when I threw a fist at you instead. I remember how strong you tried to be then, but you couldn't stop yourself from crying, when we finally talked about it. I promised myself I wouldn't hit you again. And I didn't, not for a few months. But then it got worse and worse. And now. And now look what I've done to you. Or is this an act you've been practicing, a mask you can put on just for me?_

"I'm still here."

His waiting for her for an hour and a half, she felt both disturbed and happy and angry. His dedication to attracting her attention was borderline legit-stalker behavior. And yet she wanted his attention, wanted him to pay attention to her and only her, just to see how maddening it was. But she was faint-hearted, unlike him, and gave in to his attention-seeking ways. She gave into him even though she still had scars from all those years ago that would never go away. _And I don't want them to go away. I want them to remind me of everything so I won't make the same mistakes twice. Or whatever damn number I'm up to now._

"Indeed. Now what do you want?"

"You."

"Stop it. Stop toying with me, Van."

"To talk to you. For real. Not with snarky comments. A nice conversation. Like friends would have. You think about that while I order us something."

"You're not even going to ask what I want?"

"I know what you want."

"Do you?"

"Chicken Caesar sandwich with no onions. Because you don't like onions."

He walked away to order and she stared at him. It'd been a long time since she'd had that. And not because it wasn't still her favorite. Just because she hadn't been to this cafe in awhile. Why would he remember something so silly? She stared at his back, as if the creases in his shirt would reveal something about his character, as if the bends in the way he stood allowed her to see beyond that mask. But that in itself was a sort of mask, something that made him typical, screamed contrived words like "confident" and "cocky." _They say anything but "two timing, cheating, lying, murdering bastard who stole a naïve girl's heart and then broke it in to a million tiny fragments."_

"So how are you?" he asked when he returned to the table.

"I told you I was fine."

"I haven't seen you in five years."

"And I've been fine for all five of them, thanks."

"I said no snarky comments."

"Why should I obey you?"

_Is that what it is? A question of obeying? It's either submit to my abuse or defy me. There's no gray area for you anymore. There's good and there's bad, and I'm the fucking worst of the worst. But don't you see? There's no such thing. You just ignore the good me now. You don't know how to reconcile my good side with my bad side, so you ignore it. But nothing, nothing in life is that simple. There is no such thing as good and bad. There are people who are more good than bad, or more bad than good. Us, we're more good than bad. Don't you see?_

"I'm sorry. I just didn't want snarky comments. It's got nothing to do with obeying me or anyone else. Really. I just want to know how you've been."

"Fine."

"Fine, you accept it's not about obeying me? Or, I've been fine all these years?"

"Both."

"I see . . . I'm going to go and see if our sandwiches are ready."

They both knew the sandwiches wouldn't be ready yet, but she let him walk away. She enjoyed his walking away, watched him do so, putting her chin in her hand as she leaned on her elbow. His swagger, it was a determined sort of swagger. _Of course. He won't back down. That's why I hate him. That's why I fell in love with him. Which is also why I hate him. Or at least, that characteristic. How can you hate characteristics of people but not hate them? Sometimes I fucking hate thinking. Stop thinking, stop thinking. _She stopped staring into space and looked at him again. Just looked at him as he leaned against the counter, waiting, drumming his fingers against the counter.

_He's still really . . . hot._

_Motherfuck!_

_No, my mother's like the one person he hasn't fucked. Haha._

_Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it, GOD FREAKING DAMN HIM._

"Damn, were you scowling at me that whole time? That takes skill," he said, placing one of her favorite sandwiches in front of her.

"No . . ."

"No? Now I'm surprised."

"I mean--"

"What were you thinking about before the scowling, then?"

"None of your business."

He smiled as he took a bite of his sandwich. There were so many snarky things he could say, but he didn't dare to. A smile was enough. She was probably staring at his ass and was embarrassed because she found it sexy even though she knew life wasn't like stupid chick flicks where girls rated a guy based on how nice his ass is. _But she . . . she was never like that. That's why I fell for her. Because she didn't give in to me easily. She didn't fall at my feet and let me have her. I convinced her. I convinced her that I wasn't a terrible and shallow person. She loved me for that person deep inside, the person only she could see. And then . . ._

"V--"

"Hitomi." He said it purposefully yet unhurried, emphasizing each syllable while simultaneously rolling them together, smoothly and softly. She hesitated, allowing the familiarity of his saying her name make a fresh imprint in her mind.

"Yes?"

Hitomi. He used to love to whisper it. He used to not care. He thought all girl's names were just names, names he'd say, would whisper to them in the dark to turn them on. But he liked saying her name. Hitomi. It sounded so precious and secret when he whispered it. It excited him just as much as it made her happy all those nights. Happy. He could feel her smiling into his lips as they laid in bed at night. Even as she watched him warily from across the table with a frown, he willed her to be smiling in his mind. Hitomi, Hitomi, Hitomi. How many times in his life had he said that name and taken it for granted? He wanted to hold her hand and whisper her name again and again. But he knew he couldn't.

"Hitomi. I'm sorry. I've missed you."

"I told you to stop it!" she hissed, turning away from him, unable to meet his eyes. _I hate you. I hate how you make me blush at your comments. I hate how you say my name like it's the prettiest name you've ever heard. It's an act. I fell for it once. Isn't once enough for you? You can have any woman you want, any woman but me, but no! You still go after me. Am I some prey you have to seduce with your sweet-talk? I hate you. I fucking hate you._

"I'm sorry."

"Stop. I should go now."

"No. Tell me what you've been doing for these past five years. Anything. You looked for a new job, you had one hundred and fifty boyfriends, you, I dunno, you trained a freaking seeing-eye dog for six months. Something."

"Where the hell do you come up with these random things?"

"It's a gift."

"If it will shut you up, I guess I'll tell you. Merle and Lum got married, had a kid, and then divorced--"

"That's not about you--"

"I thought you'd want to know. They were your friends."

"I'm going to refrain from saying what I was going to say."

"You can't make statements like that and then not say what you were going to say. Seriously."

"Fine. I only want to know about you."

"I'll refrain from telling you to stop it."

"Thanks."

_This easy banter. How did he suck me in to this? Didn't I just say I fucking hated him? It may not be about obeying him, but it is about falling for his little games. Van. Did you ever feel the way I do when you say my name when I say yours? I never could get the inflection, the intonation the way I wanted to. I was never as suave as you were. And yet you still said my name like that. Like you wanted me and only me. And you did. I believe you. I really do believe you. But it's the past. You did. But then you didn't. And now I don't even know what to make of you as you chew your sandwich, waiting for me to speak. I don't know what to say. Five years. Lots has happened in that amount of time, right? Why can't I think of anything to tell you, then? Nothing you'd want to hear, anyway. Well, maybe that's the stuff I should tell you . . ._

"I've been going out with Allen for awhile now. Allen Schezar. Doesn't his name sound so fancy?" She paused, wondering where to go with that thought. She had loved the name Van Fanel, too, but not because it sounded fancy, but rather just . . . exciting.

"Yeah. Fancy. Sounds like a cheesy knight out of some run-of-the-mill fantasy novel."

"Are you equating his name with the likes of a name like Harry Potter?"

He smiled. "Point taken."

"Anyway. He's really handsome and charming and is a doctor at the cancer center. We met at an employee function. Wendy- one of the people I work with closely in the lab- she introduced me to him. This was before she was jealous that I was promoted and she wasn't. She really didn't like taking orders from me when I was younger than her and had been working there for less time. But she can't even control her own daughter enough to make sure she goes to school or even live with her. She's warped her daughter into thinking she like, has to be lesbian just because her mother's lesbian. How is she supposed to manage a lab that has to diagnose patients?"

He shrugged. "Apparently they asked themselves the same question."

"And on top of that, I had the handsome doctor doting over me and sending me flowers and chocolate and giving me cards and taking me out to fancy restaurants. He would buy me nice clothes and shoes and even cook for me. He was nice to me outright. Unlike you."

"Why hasn't he proposed to you yet?"

"I don't know. There's no need to rush."

He chuckled. "If I were him, I would propose to you. Well, I wouldn't want to be him. I'd want to be the me who didn't get mixed up in drugs and shit. Then by now we'd have like, two kids and lots of money. And a dog. You always wanted a collie. I would've gotten you a collie."

"Allen doesn't know about the collie thing. I haven't expressed that wish since we were in like, high school or college."

"But I always remembered. And you only ever wanted to have two children. Close together in age, so they wouldn't get jealous of each other due to difference in treatment based on age. And you wanted to have them while you were in your late twenties to early thirties, so that you'd still be young and full of energy and be able to and want to play with them. So I don't believe in this 'there's no need to rush' bull shit. Sorry, babe, but your thirties are fast approaching."

"You've already broken that plane."

"Are you calling me old?"

"No."

"How old is Allen?"

"Thirty two."

"Well, he's ancient, then."

She gave a small laugh as she chewed, and it made him happy that he could elicit even a pseudo-smile out of her. "Care to describe the physical features of your knight in shining armor so I can ruin his pretty face with my fist over and over again in my mind?"

"As long as it's only in your mind, I can show you a picture."

"Well, actually beating him would kind of, you know, violate my parole and probably would make you hate me even more . . . if that's at all possible."

She didn't say anything as she wiped her fingers on a napkin and began digging in her purse for a picture. _I'm not sure I can hate you any more. I'm not sure exactly what I even feel, if it's even hate. I throw that word around a lot in my head, but I'm not sure it's actually hate. Wouldn't I have threatened to kill you or something if I actually hated you? Wouldn't I have actually called the cops and gotten a restraining order put on you after you came to my apartment that first night with the pendant? I fear you, surely, I feel sad that I let you hurt me so bad, yeah . . . I feel disappointed in you for crushing our future . . . and proving my initial feelings towards you correct . . . and I feel disappointed in myself for allowing this to happen to you. To us. It's never just one person's fault. It was my fault, too. So I don't think I can hate you hate you. Just be very angry with you sort of hate you._

_Not that you have to know that I don't hate you hate you._

"Here." She handed him a picture, making sure their fingers never touched as it went from one person to another. She watched him study the picture. He didn't say anything, like most people do, about how they looked cute or whatever, barely even actually looking at the picture. And why would he?

_This Allen dude . . . if I can call him a dude . . . is like, the exact opposite of me. What the fuck? Is that coincidence, or did you do it on purpose, Hitomi? Long, flowy blond hair? Are you shitting me? It makes me want to just pull on it in my mind to hear him scream in agony like a girl. His hair is longer than yours, for God's sake. And it's blond! I thought you liked tall, dark, and handsome? And blue eyes? God. It's like Hitler's fantasy come true. Nazi._

"He's the opposite of me."

"Yeah. I thought I'd try something new," she said as he handed back the picture. "But enough about me. I should be going soon. But what are you doing these days? Besides stalking me."

"I'm working for Dryden Fassa."

"Dryden Fassa . . . sounds familiar."

"You've met him before. I've done other business things with him before."

"Ah. He hired you right out of jail? What if you'd lost your mojo?"

"Wh--?" he said with a laugh. "Don't ever say that again. Mojo. What are you on? And I didn't lose it anyway."

"That's good, I guess. But I should be going."

"Alright. I'll walk you to your car."

She picked up her pocket book. "How much was the sandwich?"

"You really think I'm gonna let you pay for it?" he asked, walking past her. She had no choice but to follow him quickly. "Did you get a new car? You were still driving that silver '91 Audi."

"I got a used white '99 Mercedes instead."

"You're never gonna get with this decade," he said with a laugh.

"Sure I will. When it's the next decade."

They reached her car and stood beside the passenger side. He was reluctant to let her go after making so much progress. He knew as soon as she left and saw Allen again, there'd be a regression. And he didn't know how to end it. He needed one final comment that would stick in her mind. Or maybe the lack of one last witty comment would make her ponder the hour more.

"I'm sorry I made you wait," she said lowly.

"I'm just glad you came at all. And that you've been wearing the pendant. It . . ." he stopped involuntarily, his heart beating faster with a surge of fear. Was that Allen across the street . . ? He couldn't tell, and the guy had turned the corner anyway.

"It . . ?" she repeated. "What are you staring at?" she asked, turning his way.

"Nothing. Thought I saw somebody I recognized." _That probably means I saw a gang member in her mind and am scared to death, but that's better than her thinking that I just saw Allen._ "I was just saying it always did look good on you."

She gave him one last half-smile and a curious look as she opened the door to her car. "I guess I'll see you around."

"Yeah," he said, already pulling out his post-it notes and a pen he'd put there earlier, scribbling a message quickly on the reverse side, the side with the sticky strip, and putting it on her windshield before she could pull away.

_Next Thursday, 8, meet at our house_

She rolled down the window and removed the post it note. "When will you stop asking me out on paper?"

"When I think it's safe to ask you out out loud. If Thursday doesn't work, call me. You know the house number," he said, walking towards his car so she couldn't really respond.

_Was it witty enough?_

_"God, you're so annoying," she hissed._

_He bent to pick up the birdie and tossed it up and down in his hands. "You're the one who made the touchie comment. And it really was out of bounds."_

_"Why do you keep bothering me? What'd I ever do to you except try to ignore you?"_

_"That's exactly what you did. It makes it more fun to annoy you."_

_"You're a jackass."_

_Don't trust a ho!_

_Never trust a ho!_

_Won't trust a ho_

_'Cause the ho_

_Won't _

_Trust_

_Me_

**AN: I FINALLY FREAKING FINISHED IT! YAY ME! Crap, nope . . . I forgot something . . . -Ten minutes later- Okay, now I really finished . . . I think . . . Well, I'll read it over a few times before I post it tonight. But first things first: The song is "Don't Trust Me" by 3OH!3. It is awesome and you should all listen to it. It really is mad catchy. First song I heard by them was "Don't Dance," but I saw everyone was oggling over this song, and then I heard it and was like "oh shit! I can see why!" Yep yep. I'm pretty sure it's gaining a massive wave of popularity right now. So you've probably heard it, and if you haven't, you'll probably hear it soon.**

**Anyway, this chapter was just massive amounts of dialogue. God. And the narration for this story is so hard since it's like, no reservations. It switches between first person and omniscient narrator. But I dunno, have you ever thought about how all narration and therefore stories ARE LIES? There's like, no way in hell first person stories can be one hundred percent accurate because who the hell remembers everything they thought and felt and said way after the fact? And there can't be omniscient people who know everything every character is feeling. That's just not possible. And then like, free indirect discourse tries to mush them altogether, but that doesn't make it more accurate (though I admit it is the most fun for me to write). So yes. The crazy narration. I don't even know. I just do whatever seems right at the time. It's a crazy experiment in nothingness. And sorry if it was a bit disjointed. I'll begin to clear things up and add more mystery next chapter.**

**So why was this so late? Because college KICKED MY ASS. I even got mono . From lack of sleep. Yay. And no, I wasn't even partying or having that much fun. It was just really hard. And it was hard for me to adjust to not being home and not being able to see any of my friends or my boyfriend. And I took freaking JAPANESE and it was so hard . And I had to take it both semesters to receive any credit. I'm going back to German, I'm telling you. Oh crap, and my roommate like cyber-sexiled (was having cyber sex which led to my exile) me and was always talking to her boyfriend through one of those video chat jawns . It was scarring. I thought about transferring (which would've been really sad because I thought this school was like my dream school). Second semester was better, though. I even managed to get two A's that semester. Yay me. Now I have three months of no school. I'm looking for a job. In between that, I've been writing this (/playing Zelda: A Link to the Past XD). I can't say how much fanfiction I'll write this summer since I don't have a job yet/have other things I want to do/write. But rejoice and be glad with this chapter.**

**Thanks to: kiches-sarjilian, EscaPhan225, Inda, Missing White Wings 15, orangeclover, FallenAngel18, Sakura onto Hitomi, SnTAngel, Hannah, Jo, Chiranodoss, thepinkmartini. I hope you all haven't died in the interim or hate this new chapter. Hope you continue to review.**

**So, until we meet again, remember: don't trust a ho.**

**-Spirit0**


	6. Love Song Requiem

Something I Missed

**AN: I realized I've been ignoring time in this chapter. So I'm gonna try to make up for it a bit right now. (I get so much writing done at work, it's amazing! Too bad I stopped that job for seven weeks, eh? But now I'm back at it!)**

Chapter Five: Love Song Requiem

_"I was trying to be noble."_

He wanted to say that to her, or something to that effect. But it sounded terribly cliché and cheesy in his mind. It sounded like he wanted to be that knight in shining armor that he had made fun of Allen for seeming like. No. He had just wanted to protect her. Honestly. Her and only her. That's what he was trying to do, when he stayed out late and partied. That's what he was trying to do, when he came home late at night after cheating on her. That's what he was trying to do, when he came home to her and tore her clothes off. Literally tore them off. He curled his hands into fists in front of his closed eyes. _I raped her. I never wanted to admit that to myself. But I raped her. I raped her. How can I ever make up for that? I can't. I can't ever fucking make up for that. I raped her. I raped her._

The clock read 7:45 with a little dot to indicate PM in case he was oblivious to the darkness.

_"I was trying to be noble."_

He looked out the window to the house across the street, the house that mocked him with its jolliness. It was almost the most wonderful time of the year, and the people across the street, they were the type of people who started putting decorations up right at the end of November, to be ready for all 25 days in December. They were the type of people who had moving reindeer pulling Santa on a sleigh passing a blown up, waving snowman surrounded by icicle lights and blinking lights and multi-colored lights to guide Santa on his way. He could see his own reflection in the glass, his eyes hard and his lips forming a somber frown.

_I haven't checked if all our Christmas decorations are still in the basement. She was always really excited about Christmas, because she loved that feeling that the world was a really happy place. I fucking hated having to put all the decorations up outside in the freezing cold, but it was all worth it because it made her so happy. That last year together. She didn't ask for anything, not a present, not to hang up the decorations. She hardly spoke to me. I hung them up anyway. I wanted to see her smile. But when I came back in, she looked at me and started sobbing. And I couldn't do anything. I couldn't even hug her. I didn't deserve a hug. I said I was sorry. So, so sorry. I cried. But I should've hugged her. Even if I didn't deserve to hug her, I should've done it. But no. What'd I do? I went and helped murder a guy._

He turned away from the window.

_"I was trying to be noble."_

A tear drop in the corner of his eye. He caught it on his index finger. He could feel more forming. He feebly laughed at himself. His nose was beginning to run and he could feel the streaks on his cheek. The tears made dark red spots on his light red shirt. He hadn't meant to be so festive. Another feeble laugh that turned into a half-sob. 7:55 PM. What did it matter? It was a Thursday night coming on to the holidays and she hated him. She probably wouldn't even come. _And I deserve that. I deserve it, I deserve it, I deserve it. I believe that I deserve it. Because I'm a terrible person. I'm a terrible, terrible person._

There was a knock on the door and his heart skipped a beat, out of fear and happiness and anger and excitement. _I don't want her to see me like this . . . But if I don't open the door, she'll leave. I know she will. It's a test. I should be racing to the door to show her how much I love her, that I mean it this time. And I do. I really, really do._

"You're . . . you're crying," she whispered. She couldn't wrap her head around it. He had hardly ever cried. And now, now she was being crazy and coming to see him, alone in what once was their house, and she found him crying. _It's like . . . I don't even know. It hurts to see him like this. He was always the strong, stoic one, the one to comfort me when I cried, to protect me. I hate seeing people cry. It makes me want to cry, too._

He tried to laugh it off for her. "I was trying to be noble," he said, misusing the sentence that had repeated in his head a million times, hoping somehow she would understand everything he meant by it. "I'm sorry. I know you hate seeing people cry. I didn't want you to see me like this. I didn't think you'd come, you know? Or you'd be really late. A test, you know? Make sure I didn't just say 'fuck this, I'm gonna get me a hooker' now or something, right? But I wouldn't have done that. But I couldn't clean up after you knocked, because you would've left, and I couldn't have told you to hold on, because it's cold out here, and you would've been suspicious. So I had to open the door and I'm crying and now I'm rambling. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. Please come in."

She stepped inside because she didn't know what else to do. Seeing him cry, it hurt her. It hurt her not just because she hated seeing people cry, but because it reminded her of the Van she loved so much. The humble, sympathetic, gentle Van that she wished she could hold on to forever. But she had failed. And she knew that somewhere inside the Van she loved was the Van that she deeply despised. The Van she loved didn't make up for that despicable Van. And yet she had come to his house on a Thursday night to go out with him because she couldn't bring herself to reject this Van.

"Do you want to talk about it . . ?"

"No . . . no, not really," he said, sitting down on the couch. She sat down next to him without invitation. Funny. He'd made up all these conversations with her in his mind about these things, had had a million conversations with himself that beat around the bush about his destroyed relationship with her. And now he had her, had her sitting next to him, so close their fingers almost touched, so close that he could whisper the words and she would hear them, but he couldn't say them. He couldn't talk about it. He didn't want to cry anymore about it. It was stupid. He couldn't change the past. The past, it was just something he could learn from.

"Do you remember how we started going out?"

"I don't think that's what you were crying about . . ."

"No. But do you remember?"

"Of course I remember . . ."

_Was it possible, that people could grow to become bigger and bigger jackasses? Wasn't there a carrying capacity for jackassness? Maybe it was her. Maybe it was just because she noticed him all the time now. And he was doing it on purpose. If he saw her in the hallway, he would wave to her and give her his stupid smile, and then laugh with his buddies, mocking her. He would try to hit the birdie at her head in gym. He would try to sit next to her for a minute at lunch. He would tap her shoulder when she was at her locker. It felt like he somehow found a way to channel all his ADHD into annoying her._

_"What the hell is your problem!?"_

_"Problem? I don't have a problem. I just love to make you yell at me. Makes me feel special."_

_"This is exactly why you're a jackass! You're just annoyed that I'm like the one girl who doesn't pay attention to you, that you haven't gotten with! But oh, I guess I should like . . . be so happy, because you're hot, and you wouldn't want to get with me if I were ugly, right? Well, I can tell you that your attitude doesn't make me like you anymore! I may pay attention, but I hate you!" _

_She said this all at her locker, staring him face to face, as others walked by in their distantly connected worlds. But they didn't matter to him. This girl, she thought she understood him. And maybe she did, just a bit. But he really didn't mean to hurt her. He was just messing around so his jock buddies would think he was cool. Not that he didn't think she was pretty, because she was. And in a different sort of way than the other girls he'd dated. No, she kept her hair short, no longer than shoulder length, and had green eyes that made her look older and down to earth. He allowed a small smile to come across his face that he was sure she misinterpreted. It was such a stupid thought, but he wished to run his hand through her hair, just to see what it would feel like to have her hair stop so abruptly. It was like . . . like her hair in and of itself made a statement about her personality . . . That she was herself, and wasn't scared to show it. But he. He was scared. Was that why? Was that why he wanted her to pay attention so much?_

_"You hate me? That's a big statement. You don't even know me."_

_"I don't know you?"_

_"Do you think I don't have feelings?"_

_"Sometimes I wonder."_

_"Go out with me, and I'll prove you wrong."_

_"What the hell are you saying? Do you listen to yourself?"_

_"I dare you to go out with me, just once, so I can show you that I'm not just some stupid jock jackass."_

_It was just another dirty trick. There may not have been anyone around at the moment, but she could imagine his friends hiding somewhere, snickering, waiting for her to fall for their little bet on whether or not she'd go out with him, whether or not he could seduce her with his good looks and mischievous charm. Feelings. Of course he had to have feelings. She could see it as she looked him in the eye for the first time. Because she couldn't decipher his look. Couldn't figure out what he was feeling. But she wanted to know what he felt, how he thought, why he felt and thought that way. She wanted to understand this boy from a world she didn't understand, even if it meant she might get hurt in the end._

_"Alright. I accept your challenge. Friday. Pick me up at 7."_

"You said it so authoritatively, like you'd done it before. Gone out on a date and worn the pants, I mean."

"We prejudged each other so much . . ." she said quietly, looking at her folded up hands. _They say don't judge a book by its cover, and yet there are such things as hand writing specialists, who can tell your life story just from your handwriting. We judge people based on the way they walk, how they talk, the color of their skin, their gender. We try to tell ourselves that looks can be deceiving. But maybe we're deceiving ourselves into believing that nothing and nobody is how they seem at first glance. But that's a lie, isn't it? That's a lie, so please, just don't judge me. Don't judge me. I'm trying not to judge you now. I'm trying to take things at face value and also see into the deep recesses of your heart. I don't know who to trust or what to think anymore. I just know that I _want _to trust you._

"And in the end . . . ?"

"And in the end, we fell in love . . ." she whispered quietly. Her words, they allowed him to look at her for the first time since they'd sat down on the couch, look at her without shame or sadness or regret. He didn't expect her to say that. It implied that they were wrong. That change was possible. He smiled slightly at this admittance of hope.

"I learned a lesson that night."

"What?"

_She didn't seem to appreciate all the attention she received at school because of their dare, didn't seem to appreciate his good looks in a suit, didn't seem to appreciate the expensive dinner he took her to, didn't seem to appreciate his polite manners and his interest being on her and only her. And that last part wasn't even fake or just for show. Why didn't she seem to appreciate him in a suit, if she went out of her way to wear a tight-fitting, sleeveless dress in the middle of fall? (She didn't seem to fully appreciate his giving her his jacket, either!) Why didn't she appreciate his interest in her life? Their constant conversation? His opening her door for her? Pulling out her chair? Saying please and thank you? What did he have to do? Bow down and kiss her feet?_

_She turned towards him in the moonlight outside her house, his warm jacket draped over her shoulders. She could feel her heart begin to race despite herself. He had probably done this dozens of times. She clutched his jacket tighter as she handed it over to him in the chill of the night. He smiled the rueful smile he did at school._

_"I can take a hint," he said, winking at her. "You're not a kiss-on-the-first-date type."_

_"How can we consider this the first date if there aren't going to be any other dates?"_

_"True . . . So, what's your assessment? Am I still a jackass jock?"_

_"Yes."_

_He couldn't hide his surprise. He knew his smile dropped into a frown. Why? What had he done wrong? Nothing. What was he supposed to do, order a fucking limo and buy her champagne and dance at a royal ball with her? This girl was freaking delusional._

_"I mean . . . I didn't mean it like that," she added. "It's just . . . this date was fake. You didn't act like yourself. You tried your hardest to impress me and prove me wrong. So it was fake. It didn't prove anything."_

_He stared at her and slowly his smile returned. "Then go out with me again."_

_" . . . What?"_

_"Go out with me again. More casually. We'll go ice skating. Get a pizza. Nothing more natural for two teens to do, is there?"_

_"Why? Why do you want to prove this to me so badly?"_

_"Why won't you give me the chance?"_

_His question hung between them in the night, the waves of his voice already dissipated, already a memory, lost in the undecipherable mumblings of the insects and the birds and the cars in the night, but the message came in clear. It wasn't even just _a _chance. It was _the _chance. The chance to prove to everyone, including himself, that maybe he wasn't just what all those girls that swooned over him or what his guy friends thought of him, that maybe there was some other side to him that he hadn't quite yet revealed. He wanted her to understand that underneath the jackass, even though she knew, she _knew _that he had to have feelings, he wanted to prove that to her, to have someone who wasn't a distant admirer or a close friend for years understand that._

_"Alright. It's a date. Again."_

_"Alright. Friday. Pick you up at 7. Again."_

_"Don't mock me."_

_"Good night, Hitomi."_

"I learned that . . . That you weren't interested in someone treating you like a princess. You just . . . you just wanted someone to get you. Get you for you. And you didn't want me to spoil you just because that's a generic fantasy. Even though I paid attention to you . . . it wasn't enough. I dunno. I learned that we were sort of the same."

"Everyone is sort of the same," she whispered. "Yet everything is subtly different."

_When? When did I lose you again? And again and again? What did I say wrong? I wish I could ask these questions. I wish I could know everything you're thinking._ _This is where we disconnect. It's not in the things that are said. It's in the silence between. It's what runs through your mind when I say these words, the things that you never bother to voice. Reading between the lines. It's partially a guessing game. It depends on who you are and what you know and where you're from and how you're raised and God knows what else. The things that make us different. Why does it have to be so complicated? I fucking hate this. But I'll smile at you anyway, in the hopes that you'll understand._

"Why am I here . . ?" she whispered. _You, you sit here and reminisce like it's the happiest thing in the world. And maybe, maybe those were the happiest times in our lives. The best and the most memorable. But don't they hurt you? The happy things, they're what hurt the most. They remind me that something destroyed that along the way. Or was it all a lie to begin with? No. Even I'm not that pessimistic. I know you loved me. I know that I loved you, too. Because if that wasn't true love . . . Then there is no such thing. But is it really better to have loved and to have lost then to never have loved at all? I wonder. Because it's making me cry._

He watched as the tears started trickling down her face, gaining speed as they went along. He clasped his hands together tightly. _ I want to hold her. I want to hold onto her and never let go. I want to kiss her tears away, and then keep kissing her. I want to smile into her lips and feel her smile back. But I can't. I can't, because _"All I do is make you cry," he whispered. "I'm sorry. Please don't cry." He placed his hand on top of hers. It was the only thing he dared to do. She spread her fingers open to let his in between, so that their fingers were intertwined. He stroked her pinky with his thumb.

_Your hand is so pale compared to mine. It's also like one and a half times the size. And it's so warm. You always stroke me when I'm upset, because I think you don't know what to say. But you always remind me that you're there for me. Always stroking my hands, my arms, my hair, my cheek, my lips. _She gripped his hand tighter and brought it to her face, leaning against it lightly. He released her hand to wipe away her tears. "No . . ." he whispered. "You don't actually want this."

_It's true._

"You know, my original plan was to go out to dinner . . . But our reservations have already passed. But that's okay. We'll still do the second thing I had planned. But now . . . what do you want to eat?"

"What . . . What do you have?"

"It's easier if you tell me what you want and I tell you if I have it."

"I don't have a lot of confidence in you and your ability to go grocery shopping or cook."

"Ouch."

"What are we doing later?"

"It's a surprise. What do you want for dinner . . ?"

"I don't know . . . might as well surprise me."

"Whatever you want."

_You could be the final straw that brings me back to Earth_

_Ever-waiting airports full of the love that you deserve_

_Wishing I could find a way to wash away the past_

_ Knowing that my heart will break_

_ But at least the pain will last_

* / *

He couldn't believe she'd actually gone. He couldn't believe he had to sit outside in his car trying to look non-conspicuous. A knot formed in his stomach. His girlfriend was cheating on him. He may have been her boyfriend by force. But it still hurt. Everything hurt him in the end. He was pretty much damned if he did and damned if he didn't. He thought he actually loved her. Regardless of whether he did or not, he didn't want her to get hurt . . . but that's all that Albatou had in store for any of them. The Fanel's, him, his sister, Hitomi. That's all there was in the end. Being hurt. Damned if he did and damned if he didn't. And Fanel, he was playing into the trap. So was Hitomi. Their hearts . . . Albatou knew how to exploit them. He knew how to exploit anyone. It was terrible. How'd his sister get him into this mess?

"Hitomi . . . leave him. Please."

* / *

"Of course . . . dinner and ice skating," she whispered to herself in the car, as he went around and opened her door. "I didn't know rinks were open so late on a Thursday," she said to him.

"To people who don't have connections and cash and the love of their lives who they have to court all over again, it's not," he said, a smile adorning his shadowed face. _I know, I know you'll fucking hate me for saying that. But it's true. Do you know how beautiful you are in the moonlight? No. You don't. You have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now. But I can't, or you'll run away. I have to flirt with you like this and hope for the best. You're going to admonish me right now, aren't you?_

"Please don't say things like that," she said, unable to look at him as she said it. _How can you throw around phrases like "love of their lives"? Can't you love more than one person? I love Allen. I know I do. It's not the same as it was with you. But it's still love. Maybe it's because you were my first love. People say you never really get over first loves. That sounds so . . . heartbreaking. Why do first loves always go wrong, then, if they're so touching? _

"Come on," he said, after grabbing his skates and a jacket out of the trunk of his car.

"I haven't done this in years."

"And you think I have?"

"Do those skates still fit you? Or work?"

"I don't know. And they're probably still better than rental skates."

They entered the building and even though it was chilly outside, she could still feel the temperature difference. She shivered. "Thanks for warning me to dress really warmly," she said sarcastically.

"Who did you think this jacket was for?" he said, draping it over her shoulders. She put her arms through the sleeves. They were much too big for her. _I remember how I loved to wear your jackets in high school. You gave me your favorite one. I would wear it to bed on cold nights. But then I would feel bad, because it wouldn't smell like you, and then I'd wash it and make you wear it a few times before giving it back to me. You gave it to me . . . You gave it to me after one of the first few times you made love to me . . . You had been wearing it before I took it off you shyly. But your room was dark and chilly, so you put it on me afterwards and held me against your body . . ._

_"It's really big on me," I whispered._

_"You're adorable in it," you whispered back, kissing my collarbone. I leaned my forehead against yours because I wanted more than that, but I was shy and didn't like to initiate kisses. You made me whine for them. "You're so cute," you whispered inbetween._

_I buried my face in your neck and smiled. "It's warm. It's like I'm wearing you. Like I'm inside you." _

_"I thought only I could be inside you?" you joked, and I hit you lightly. You rolled on top of me_ _to make it easier to kiss me. You smiled and stopped kissing me to tease me and make me whine again. "You keep it," you whispered into my lips._

_"But it's your favorite . . ."_

_"No, you're my favorite."_

_"Van . . ."_

_"You keep it . . ." you insisted, kissing me again to melt away any protests, ". . . so that when I'm not there and you're lonely, you can be inside me."_

_I hugged you to me tightly then, placing your cheek against mine. "I love you, Van."_

"_I love you, too, Hitomi," you whispered into my ear._

"Thank you . . ." she said quietly. He smiled and thought little of it as he got her rental skates.

"Here's the best pair of 8's I've got," the man at the booth said.

"Thanks, Rum. I appreciate it."

"No problem. I'm interested to see if you can pull this off. You two always did look good together."

"Thanks. Can you put on the music now?"

"Sure. Have fun."

"Thanks."

_We always just _looked _good together? But did we go together? No. I'm reading into it way too much. Rum just says what he thinks. He's not a deep thinker, either. Not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree. I need to get one of those. For her. Nobody else. I need to hang up those decorations. I should've done that with her. But I couldn't not go ice skating after renting it out for an hour to ourselves and inconveniencing Rum. I don't even know if the decorations are still there . . ._

"Here. Do you want me to tie them for you?" he asked, handing the pair to her.

"No . . . that's okay."

They put their skates on in silence. He finished first and went to the door. Memories of hockey flooded back to him, but he was wobbly on his skates when he stepped out. He skated around slowly. Skating was like walking. He could never really forget it. _It's like Hitomi, too . . . And our dates here. I can never forget those._

He stopped in the doorway as she inched her way out and held on to the wall. "I barely learned how to skate the first time around . . ."

"It's okay. Hold my hand."

_"Hold onto my hands."_

_"No."_

_"Are you scared?"_

_"No. Leave me alone."_

_"We're on a date. I can't leave you alone," he said, skating backwards in front of her, mocking her with his ease._

_"So I'm an obligation?"_

_"No. Don't twist my words and say something I didn't mean," he said, grabbing both of her hands. "Come on. It'll be fun. I promise. Don't you trust me?"_

_"You should know the answer to that."_

_"Well, I'm gonna change your answer."_

_"No---," she said desperately, but it was too late. He was already pulling her along, getting faster and faster, looking behind himself to weave through people, turning back to her to give her his classic rogue grin, mocking her again, asking 'aren't you having fun yet?' And she had to admit, it was kind of fun, to be skating fast and not falling down. But she was really scared of when he stopped. She didn't want to fall again. Falling hurt a lot, and she knew she already had a few bruises. _

_He began to slow down after two times around the rink. She could hear the blades of his skates scraping the ice. She could feel him pushing against her hands to slow her down, but it wasn't enough, and he let her run into him before coming to a complete stop. Their proximity embarrassed her, but she couldn't push herself off him because she didn't want to fall again. Damn him and his traps._

_"Wasn't it fun?" he asked, smiling down at her. She could feel the heat start to rise in her cheeks despite the cold. She'd never been this close to him before. Under her fingertips, she'd felt the words rumble in his chest as he spoke them. And his eyes. They really were unique. And piercing. She knew she couldn't lie to him. He had seen the answer in her eyes._

_"Yeah . . . it was fun," she admitted. He took both of her hands from his chest and intertwined his fingers with hers, still smiling._

_"I'm glad," he said. He began to lead her off the ice. "Let's take a break . . ."_

_"That's the one good idea you've ever had."_

_"Ever?"_

_"Ever."_

_"You just liked my previous idea."_

_"No I didn't, I said it was fun after the fact."_

_"Must you always be so . . . technical?"_

_"Yes."_

_"I'm going to get us some hot chocolate. Wait here."_

_She didn't like being told what to do or that he had assumed she'd want hot chocolate, but she enjoyed the warmth in the café area, where lots of other teenagers were crowded around. She recognized some of them from school, but she would never say hi to them or anything. They were all the preppy people she didn't like. Like Van. He would probably take forever to get two cups of hot chocolate because he would have to talk to everyone along the way._

_"Here," he said, handing her a steaming Styrofoam cup._

_"Thanks . . ." she said, masking her surprise at his relatively speedy return._

_"So, do you like skating?"_

_"It's okay."_

_"This was your first time, right?"_

_"Yeah . . ."_

_"Well, what do _you_ like to do for fun?"_

_"I don't know . . . I just like to read, listen to music, go shopping and stuff with my friends. Play video games with my brother."_

_"Those aren't things I could do with you on a date."_

_"Well, why does that matter now? We're not going on any more dates."_

_"True . . ." he said, putting his cup of hot chocolate down. "Am I still a jackass?"_

_"This is all still fake."_

_I was sort of scared to admit then that you were kind of right . . . that I was being fake, or at least, that I was teasing you a bit. But my liking you, that wasn't fake. I really did like your quirky ways and your feistiness. And I think you knew it wasn't all fake. You were just scared, like me. Scared of where it'd all lead. There's nothing wrong with being scared. I'm just so sorry there was actually a reason for you to be in the end. I'm so sorry you have always had to be scared of me._

"This is my favorite song," she said, bringing him out of his reverie. He hadn't even noticed that Rum had started the music. Hesitantly, he turned around and started skating backwards, taking both her hands in his.

"I know . . ." he said, beginning to sing along lowly. "Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry, you don't know how lovely you are . . .

I had to find you,

tell you I need you,

tell you I set you apart

Tell me your secrets

And ask me your questions

Oh, let's go back to the start . . ."

They didn't even notice that they were in the center of the ice staring at each other.

_He held her hand as he walked her halfway to her doorstep. She argued that she let it happen because his hand was warm and hers were cold. But it actually made her more uncomfortable. She looked up towards her house. It didn't seem like anyone was looking out of the window or anything. Which was good. Because she didn't want them to get the wrong idea. She felt him squeeze her hand to bring her out of her thoughts._

_"Well, I guess this is another good night," he said lowly, not letting go of her hand._

_"Yes. Good night, Van."_

_But he didn't release her hand. No, he held it even closer to him. She looked up at him, startled, but she couldn't read his expression. He took a tiny step towards her, placing his free hand on the small of her back, feeling her tense. His hands were starting to become clammy. He put his face as close to hers as he dared without frightening her any more._

_"Is your heart racing?"_

_She couldn't do anything but stare at him blankly._

_"Because mine is . . ." he whispered, releasing her hand to brush her cheek while he kissed her. It was a timid kiss with little force, a mere touching of the lips in his mind, but an invasion of everything that had been private to her. But this wasn't fake. His body couldn't be lying. His heart was racing and his hands were shaking slightly. He hadn't been this nervous since his first few kisses. Because all the other girls he'd dated had wanted him to kiss them. But he was scared she would just push him away. Like, literally push him away. Fortunately, she wasn't doing that. But she wasn't kissing him back, either._

_"Hitomi," he said, barely audibly, close enough so that she could feel his breath with every syllable. His eyes opened slowly, meeting her half-open ones. "Hitomi, go out with me again. Not because I dared you to. But because you want to," he said, kissing her again. Still, she didn't kiss him back, and after one last piercing look, he let go of her._

_"No . . ."_

She bit her lower lip on the drive back to his house, leaning on her elbow and staring out the window. Red, green, and white lights reflected in the window pane. She missed that. She couldn't have all that in an apartment. When she left the house, she hadn't bothered to go down the basement to burn things or throw them out.

"Are you going to put up the decorations?"

"Are the decorations still there?"

"Yes."

"Then yes."

She chewed her lower lip some more, hesitantly asking, "Who are you going to spend Christmas with?"

"I don't know. My parents, I guess."

_Myself because I don't deserve anyone's company, _he thought bitterly, the feelings of earlier in the night coming back to him. _But I don't want any pity from you that I don't deserve. I want you to love me for who I am, not because you feel sort of sad for me. Although you probably still hate me._

"Did you have fun tonight?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Yes."

_Such a curt response. Is this how it's going to be? You hate me when you get there, you warm up to me throughout the night, then you remind yourself that you hate me and become cold again? You're kidding yourself. Just like the first time around. You were kidding yourself. Only this time around, there are no rapes attached. God dammit, why? Why are these feelings coming back? I can't take back the past. All I can do is give you a better future. I swear. I won't let me or anyone else rape you. I'll protect you this time. I'll protect you._

It was 11:13 PM by the time they reached his house, and he knew she had to work in the morning. They walked to her car, and she turned to face him. "I'm still waiting, you know," she said lowly.

"What?"

"For you to tell me why."

He smiled sadly. "I told you," he said quietly. "I was trying to be noble."

* / *

**AN: Ngh, my brain is dying from working on this for five hours straight while at "work" (aka, being paid 14 dollars an hour to apparently write fanfiction?). Yes . . . I actually had like a quarter to a half of this written like two months ago, but then I became a camp counselor, and you know, children wore me out. It was a good form of birth control.**

**Anyway, the two songs in this chapter were "Love Song Requiem" by Trading Yesterday (which I named the chapter after) and "The Scientist" by Coldplay (gosh, is no fun, it won't let me format them the way I want). I only heard Love Song recently . . . from watching a Cloud x Aerith video, haha. And I never even played FFVII . . . But what's with Aerith flirting with Zack in Crisis Core? Like, say what? (I know a lot about these games even though I never played them thanks to my boyfriend/Advent Children).**

**Sorry if this chapter sucked towards the end (or if it all sucked). My brain is pretty fried now. **

**Please review even if you thought it was the biggest piece of trash you've ever read! Thanks.**

**-Spirit0**

**P.S. My favorite scene was the jacket scene. So . . . cute.**


	7. Our Eyes Make Christmas

Something I Missed

**AN: You know what . . ? I miss Starry Eyed Wonder and all those old fanfiction peeps. Sadness. I wonder what they do these days. Apparently not write fanfiction for cheap highs, like me. Maybe they're all some big shot authors and who among us would even know it? Just like you'd never know if someone were actually dead on this site.**

**If everything seems particularly more emo than usual . . . well . . . there are lots of reasons that I prefer not to tell you . . . But I can tell you I just stalked off to my room and slammed the door even though I purposefully avoided it because it was raining and my room leaks, but God forbid I be allowed to be in the living room! Or anywhere else in this tiny-ass house! And God forbid I even be allowed to lock the stupid door to my room because my parents thought they were so clever putting it on the outside! Well, they are very clever then, now aren't they? It almost makes me want to go back to school earlier, even though I hate my life there, too! Ugh! In the words of Van: **_**Goddamn shit motherfuck!**_

**Now I will take it all out on fictional characters who can have more messed up lives than me!**

**In this chapter I will correct: How I have ignored that Van is on probation.**

Chapter Six: Our Eyes Make Christmas

He wasn't sure, but he liked to think that he'd been born crazy. That his genes were messed up. Well, that really was the problem. There was no doubt about that. He liked to think that he was the product of a bad batch of sperm attracted to the smell of a rotten egg. That's what he was. A rotten egg. He didn't buy Locke's bullshit about people being born blank slates. They had better genes. They were born from body-building sperm attracted to the smell of scrabbled eggs after waking up on a pleasant morning. Maybe that was it. Maybe he'd been consummated in the middle of the night when his parents were tired and it'd been a terrible day and the sex was lackluster. But Van had been consummated in the morning after their parents had a restful sleep and woken up all seductively smiling. Yes, maybe that was it.

He smiled in the darkness as he rolled onto his left side. See, these thoughts, he knew they were crazy. But he didn't care. What did it matter if he was crazy? Even if he wasn't, what did it matter? He wouldn't have been anything. He wouldn't've been anything big like Van. That little son of a bitch. Yes, their mom was indeed a bitch. She liked Van more than him. Well, how do you like him now, mom? I tried. I really tried to be good. I tried to be as good as him, don't you see? No, you didn't see, that's the point. You didn't notice my manic depression and you couldn't stop my maniac ways and now I've taken you all down with me. How do you like him now, mom?

Well, who cares about what mom thinks? How do you like him now, Hitomi? Biggest son of a bitch you ever met? Good. I've taken you all down with me, see? I took you down good. I took your lives and gutted them. You all have nice scars that will never heal. I could've killed you all. But that's too easy, don't you know? Because you don't suffer. Now you're all suffering. You regret what you've done and you fear and you're paralyzed and can't move on to a better future. See, Jajuka's dead and doesn't suffer. Maybe his soul suffers in hell. But I don't believe in hell. No, sure, who cares if there's a hell? Who gives a fuck? It's empty because we don't even have souls, don't you know? This isn't because my soul is bad. It's because my parents fucked at the wrong time and messed up my brain.

But I wouldn't mind if Jajuka was rotting in hell. No, I wouldn't mind that at all. Stupid son of a bitch. Dilandau doesn't even realize. Jajuka was gonna rat us all out. He was gonna rat us all out, and then there wouldn't have been enough suffering. See, it's good I killed Jajuka. It's like the bullet went through his heart and never stopped. I got Van and Hitomi and mom and dad and Dilandau. I made them all suffer. Maximum suffrage. Down with woman suffrage! Goddamn stupid women.

Women are bitches. They whine about being suppressed, and then they go and wear their mini-skirts and their padded bras and and their tight-fitting, low-cut shirts, and they talk about who's hot and who's not and all that bullshit. Oh, Folken, your little brother is so hot. Shut the fuck up. Who cares about that stupid-ass jock. Can't you see I hate him. I hate the attention you give him. I hate you and your goddamn lists. What's wrong with me? You broke my heart. I thought you loved me. You said you loved me. You whispered that you loved me in the dark as you kissed me. But you lied. You left me. You're no better or worse than the rest of them. Only blood kept them attached to me. Blood and gangs.

It's the little things that drive you mad. Your girlfriend talking about how Orlando Bloom is so hot, the automatic glare your brother gives you when you say his name, the way your brother smiles at his girlfriend, the way your imagination imagines what your freed brother is doing right now, the way you sit listening to the clock tick, tick, ticking your life away. Tic tok on the clock but the party don't stop, no! I could've done something great. I could've murdered someone good and changed the world. I could've been like Lee Harvey Oswald. I could've killed George Bush. But no. That's how big of a fucking failure I am. But I'm taking you with me. I'm taking you all with me.

* * *

It hadn't been Van who pulled the trigger. It was Folken. It hadn't been Van's idea to kill Jajuka. It had been Folken's. It hadn't been Van who started a gang. It was Folken. Folken had the drugs, the liquor, the prostitutes, the firearms, the ill-intentions. The power over Van. _But why? Why did you give into him? You were the good one, the strong one. You would cause him to look away with a simple glare in high school. And then you became his little toy. Did he threaten to shoot you? We could've moved. We could've moved away from that crazy, sadistic bastard. It wouldn't matter if we didn't live in as nice a house or neighborhood or didn't make as much money or whatever. It wouldn't have mattered to me, because I know we could've made it. Were you scared? Did you hit me because you were tired of being treated like dirt? Because you had no one to turn to? _She stared at the phone.

"What are you thinking about, Hitomi?" he whispered. She stopped looking beyond him to the desk, looked into his cloudy eyes. It wasn't the same 'he' she'd been dreaming of, but she smiled at him slightly anyway, adjusted her head so that it was closer to his, trying to think of something to say. She could see the strand of Christmas lights around the perimeter of the room.

_Just like in our room . . ._

"I wish I had a house."

"Why?"

"So then I could have a real tree. And could have outside decorations."

"And so you'd have to mow the lawn every weekend in the summer like all the other good suburbanites," he said with a quiet laugh.

_It's not funny. It's not funny that I'm lying here thinking about the man who abused me and the house we lived in together and how happy I was with him when I'm about to sleep with you and I've been with you for years and we don't live together and you haven't asked me to marry you. It's not funny! What's he doing right now? Probably thinking about me! What am I thinking about? What the hell are you thinking about! _

"It's not funny."

He gave a somber look, his jaw tightening. _Everything in my life is getting fucked up, no matter what I do. And it's all that bastard Van's fault. No. No, it's not his fault. He's a victim, too. _He looked at Hitomi again, at the tiny little fire of Christmas lights burning in her eyes. He moved closer to her, kissed her forehead, held her tightly to his chest. _Who am I to complain? You're the biggest victim of all. Everyone's trying to make Van the victim, but you're the biggest victim of all._ "I'm sorry . . ."

"For what?" she said harshly under her breath.

_For deceiving you again. _"We can look at houses after Christmas . . ." he said instead.

She put her face into the pillow, gripping it tightly underneath.

"Hitomi, what's wrong?" he said earnestly, knowing she wouldn't tell him.

"Leave me alone!" came her muffled . . . scream? Yell? No. Just her muffled anger. Just pure anger. At everything and nothing at the same time. Maybe if everything and everyone disappeared, her mind would be at peace. But no. Her life seemed to revolve around him no matter what she did. She gripped the pillow tighter as she felt tears begin to form. From the very beginning . . . _From the very beginning . . ._

_ She didn't know why she'd refused him. Even she had to admit, he'd been nothing but nice to her. Even gentlemanly. He'd been the exact opposite of everything she expected him to be, which is exactly as she expected him to be. Except he'd done it twice in two totally different environments. And there was no sign that he was trying to trick her, to hurt her. But she had refused his offer, not dare, for a third date. She'd stayed up the past few nights, replaying the dates in her head, wondering why. Her conclusion usually came down to the fact that she was . . . ashamed. And scared. Ashamed that she'd misjudged and stereotyped him so much. And scared by the fact that she could do such a thing, that people could be so two-faced-seeming. Or were there even more than two faces? Weren't there an unlimited number of faces?_

_She watched his face at school, how it changed depending on the setting and who he was talking to, whether they were his friends, his teachers, his ex-girlfriends, jocks, nerds. In the few glances she ever would catch of him, she realized he had lots of different faces. And none of them were particularly mean or malicious or self-centered or whatever she'd expected. He smiled often. His smile was very boyish. She blushed as she took the last book out of her locker. She had to admit that she was at least physically attracted to him._

_ She visibly jumped when she closed the locker and noticed him standing there._

_ "Did I scare you?" he asked with a smile._

_ "I don't appreciate your rhetorical question."_

_ "And I don't appreciate your fancy answer for 'why yes Van, you did scare me,'" he said. "But I'm sorry for scaring you. I didn't mean to. I was wondering how long it'd take you to notice."_

_ "You could've just said something."_

_ "It's more fun this way."_

_ "Well, I don't have time to play your games. I need to go to class," she said, walking past him. But he turned around and picked up her pace._

_ "I would ask if I could carry your books, but that's pretty cheesy, and I'm not really sure whether you like cheese or not, but I got this impression that you don't, but I wanted to tell you that I wanted to ask anyway just in case you do like cheese, and that I will carry your books if you do," he said. She knew he was trying to be cute. Flirting with her. But his indecision about whether or not to actually ask her if he could carry her books actually made it even cuter. It was clear his indecision was real._

_ "Why are you flirting with me? You haven't talked to me in a week. I thought you'd given up."_

_ "After one try? No way. I was just giving you space to think about it."_

_ "What if I have thought about it and the reason I didn't talk to you is because the answer is still no?"_

_ "Then your answer is wrong," he said flatly. "And I'm here for the right answer." She stopped in front of her classroom and looked at his face. His red-tinted brown eyes looked into hers unwaveringly. He did not smile. It was a face she hadn't seen on him before. Perhaps a face he made just for her. She was disheartened that it was such a stern, unhappy face._

_ "I can't give you that answer," she said quietly, looking away from his eyes for a second before moving on. "But for the record . . . I like cheese."_

_ He gave her a genuine smile._

She sobbed into his chest as he rubbed her back gently but sometimes vigorously, letting her know he was there for her, kissing her forehead as she the rest of her body heaved, convolved, revolted against his, as her tears and her snot soaked his shirt which only came back to soak her face, drowned her face in her own sadness, helplessness, stupidity, a slap in the face, yes, a wet slap in the face, whimpering in pain, a painful face, readable, see through, pain oozing out her eyes, her nose, her mouth, touching him but not penetrating, no, just her and the pain inside her heart that was making her cough, that she was trying to cough up, throw up, but it wouldn't come out, no matter how hard she tried, it would never come out, a pool of tears that never dried up, a knot in her heart that could never be untied, a deep well of painful memories that he pulled a bucket-full from everyday, everyday, everyday revolved around him, the pain he made her bleed, the happiness he'd given her and then shattered into thousands of sharp fragments of memories.

And slowly the flood began to subside, came in small waves before resting calmly, waiting, calming down but already preparing for the next outburst, whether it came hours, days, weeks later, it would come, _it always comes_, she thought wearily, shifting her head to a dry place on his chest, not wanting to drown anymore in her self-pity, taking off his shirt because it was wet with snot and that was disgusting, yes, he wouldn't want to sleep in that nastiness, wouldn't want to sleep with the salt of her tears burning his shoulder, wouldn't want to go to sleep so disturbed and distraught by her pain.

Of course he didn't want those things, but he knew that this, that her kissing and replacing the tears of pain with the bruises of pleasure wasn't going to untie that knot in her heart. "Hitomi, no," he whispered, rolling on his side so that she could no longer reach his chest comfortably. "You don't actually want . . ." She wasn't even paying attention to what he was saying as she sucked on his lower lip so long and so hard that its intensity hurt, but made her more desirous, made him almost forget what he was saying. "You don't want this . . ." he whispered before she could kiss him again. "You don't want _me . . ._" he whispered, even as she sat up to take her shirt off, to push him over onto his back so that she could straddle his waist, could prop herself over him so that her breasts were mere centimeters from his lips.

For a moment, she calmed down, thought about it, thought about the hand running through his long blond hair, thought _this is nothing like Van's hair, Van's short and coarse black hair, mangy, unkempt, not trying to hide his lack of trying, not trying to impress me._

_ "Don't you ever brush your hair?" she asked quietly, pressing her hand to the scalp, pulling her hand back slowly, trying to untangle all the knots in his hair. (They were hard, sure, but not as hard as untying knots in the heart, no, I can't touch those.)_

_ "Only sometimes," he admitted, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. "But I like when you brush it with your hand. It still hurts like a bitch, but at least your hand feels good against my scalp." He smiled as he leaned in to kiss her. "And at least I can taste you while you do it . . ." he kissed her again, feeling the hands against his scalp bring him closer to her, her fingertips pressed against his head. "And I can gauge how much I please you . . ."_

_ "Shut up . . ."_

_ But Allen won't hurt me. Allen won't beat me, _she thought, and even as she thought it, he was pushing her, pushing her away, and for a moment she was frightened, scared by the slight pain in her breasts when he accidentally pushed her there. "No, Hitomi, this is wrong. You're not even thinking about me. This isn't right."

The well hadn't dried up for the night. The knot grew tighter. Even as she straddled him, she let out a new cry of anguish, clutched her own heart, the place between her bare breasts, letting her forehead rest against his chest before realizing she was repulsed by the touch, just as he seemed repulsed by her, by this creature who could cry not from being tormented but from the memories of not being tormented, the happy memories with her tormentor, crying from a longing not to just not tormented,but to have the tormentor not torment her anymore. And so she sank to the floor, laid on her stomach, feeling the rough, grating carpet against her cheek, against her nipples, hurting, surface wounds she would regret in the morning, maybe, but that she found fitting now, felt that she deserved for trying to sleep with Allen when the only person she thought about was Van.

He watched her back arch in small jerks from her erratic sobs. He wanted to reach out to her, to rub her back, to lay next to her and hold her again. But instead he put his head in his hands and stared at the darkness, hearing only her soft sobs fill the darkness.

* * *

Lights. And more lights. And more and more and more lights.

_What the fuck, did I really put all these up each year? All you environmentalists out there trying to stop climate change! If you have Christmas lights, you're hypocrites! Petition against Christmas! Light pollution! So much light pollution! As if I actually care about light pollution. I'm just so sick of plugging all these in to make sure they work. And how one little bulb messes everything up! Untangling all the strands. Also a bitch. Hauling them up the stupid ladder. Also a bitch. _He was on all fours on the roof, staring at the lights, wondering which colors he wanted to use to make his rudimentary Christmas tree out of lights with. He used to do just plain white. But that was boring. Then it was red and green. Traditional. _Fuck that. Red and green and white. Spice it up._

He hammered all the pegs into the ground, not bothering to measure the distance between them. Close enough. Can't care too much. He went up and down the ladder six times. No. Five. It took him awhile to remember how he used to make each strand a different color. Otherwise it just looked stupid. The outer strands were green, the next ones red, and the center one was white. Of course. Pure in the center. He stared at the roof. _Happy Holidays flashing. Better than Merry Christmas. Acknowledges New Years. Acknowledges that this is just about buying people presents. About making children happy. Being happy. Happy Holidays! _He didn't smile. _Santa Claus is coming to town. And he's going to stuff your stocking with coal. But you're too slick for that, aren't you? Just not going to put up stockings. That's okay. He's going to give you so much coal that he's going to wrap it in a big box and put it under the tree. Look at his inflated bag up there. Yeah. It's full of coal for you._ He turned away.

Usually he was the one trying to surprise her, trying to penetrate her guard. But she had caught him when he wasn't even trying to guard himself, and so he jumped and stared at her stupidly, waiting, before giving her a half grin. She took a few steps towards him, as if his smile had invited her. Invited her to slap him across the face.

_Goddamn shit motherfuck! I wish I could yell that! But I won't, because I'll scare you away, you little bitch. No. No. I deserved it. You're not a bitch. I deserved it. You slapped me once. I've slapped you several times. So I deserved it. _"Hello to you, too, Hitomi," he said quietly, taking his hand away from his cheek, as if he didn't deserve even his own hand to console himself.

She didn't say anything. She just stood there shaking.

"Do you like my tree?"

_Of course I like your tree. Everyone else buys fancy things. Everything fancy, already done, just plug it in. But you bother to create something out of strands of lights. You don't just, just throw lights in a bush, or hang unnatural-looking icicle lights. You always created this tree instead of buying one you could just plug in you. You know the answer!_

"Mm . . . I guess you've been watching all those light shows on YouTube, too. With people synchronizing lights to music. Sorry. I'm not that amazing."

_Don't belittle yourself! It angers me even more! Don't assume what I think about you! Don't assume because I'm scowling at you that means I hate you! I don't know what I hate! I do hate you! But not for the reasons you think! _

"Are you going to talk to me? Or did you just come here to slap me?"

She covered her face with her hands so she wouldn't have to look at his reddening cheek. _No. It's not his cheek. It's his eyes. His brown-red eyes. Looking at my green ones. The lights playing in them both. Remembering what I said. Always remembering what I said._

_ "Our eyes make Christmas."_

_ They were lying in bed staring at the Christmas lights in their room. She'd been watching him out of the corner of her eye, noticing his blank stare. He wasn't actually seeing the lights anymore. He was in his own little dreamland. What was he thinking about? Angels and snowmen and children being happy and gifts? Those were things she thought about when she entered her own world. But she didn't know what his Utopian world was like. The thought of not knowing such a detail about him scared her. And as she looked at his unreadable eyes, a thought struck her, and she said it no matter how stupid it sounded, if only so they could think about the same topics. _

_ Even though they wouldn't ever think the same exact thoughts._

_ He turned his head at the sound of her voice, his eyebrows furrowed unconsciously. "What?"_

_ "Our eyes. They're Christmas colors. Red and green," she said, smiling._

_ "I'm surprised you didn't notice earlier," he said, giving her a half-smile._

_ "Neither did you."_

_ "I don't go around harping about how Christmas is my favorite holiday."_

_ "But it's the most wonderful time of the year. Everyone seems happy."_

_ "Seems."_

_ This isn't how she wanted it to turn out at all. She expected him to kiss her and hug her and tell her how cute she was and kiss her again and tell her that he loved her and good night and they would fall asleep in each other's arms and feel the warmth of each other even though it was cold outside and be happy because it was Christmas time and that's how people were supposed to be on Christmas. _

_ "Besides, my eyes are actually brown . . ." he continued._

_ "Are you unhappy?" she forced herself to whisper, feeling the tears begin to come to her eyes._

_ And in that moment, his face fell as he realized his mistake, as he seemed to read her mind and see all the things she wanted him to say. But he couldn't say them now, now that she had guided him there so obviously, had left her question dangling there to purposefully make him backtrack. Well, he could. Was backtracking lying? No. It's trying to make up for mistakes. And mistakes are bad. Yes. He just couldn't say the words now because they'd be hollow. He'd only say them because that's what she wanted to hear. So maybe backtracking was lying. She began to cry._

_ "No, Hitomi, no, why would I be unhappy?" he asked, shifting closer to her, bringing her head to his chest and running a hand through her hair. "I'm not unhappy. I didn't mean it like that. I meant plenty of other people are unhappy. Why would I be unhappy? I have you and I love you more than anything and our eyes make Christmas and that just shows how well we go together."_

_ "Your eyes are actually brown," she said into his chest, so that he could feel his own words hit him back._

_ "They have a reddish tint."_

_ "But they're brown."_

_ "If they're red to you, they're red."_

_ "So if I were red-green color blind and I thought your eyes were green and mine were red, then I'd be right?"_

_ "What? No. That's not even how colorblindness works."_

_ "Who cares!"_

_ He kissed her fiercely then and she kissed him back because she didn't want to be mad at him and she knew that he didn't really care about colorblindness. She didn't want to fight with him. She wanted him to be happy. And if kissing would make him happy and it would make her happy, then why not?_

_ He rested his forehead against hers after several lighter kisses. "Hitomi. Do you know why our eyes make Christmas?"_

_ If she were really mad, she would've been a smart ass. She would've said "because both my mother and my father had at least a green allele and either another green, gray, or blue allele, and you, because you got some fucked up brown allele." Instead, she just said, "no."_

_ "Because no matter how much we fight or get mad or sad, we'll always be together. And we'll always end up happy. Being with you is Christmas everyday for me."_

_ She couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of his statement. "That is disgustingly cheesy."_

_ "Yeah, but you liked it. I can be as disgustingly cheesy as I want because you'll love me no matter what I say or do and we'll always remember in the end, when we fight, that our eyes make Christmas and that we love each other and that we're happy."_

"Our eyes make Christmas," she said, removing her hands from her face. "I came here to say that our eyes make Christmas."

* * *

He imagined that this is what it felt like to be shot through the heart.

_No. _He walked over to the couch and covered his face with his hands as he began to cry. _No, goddammit! It's worse than being shot through the heart. So much worse. If I were shot in the heart, at least I would die. I would die a quick and easy death. But no. I don't even deserve to die. I deserve to be shot and bleed and then be stitched up haphazardly, everywhere, one spot at a time, never fully healed. I deserve that! I fucking deserve it! I'm bleeding! My tears are blood! How much of your blood did I spill? I'm sorry. I wish I could tell you how sorry I am. I wish I could say it in a way you could understand. Understand how everything you say to me is a bullet. A bullet permanently lodged into a wound that will never heal._

_ It's mutually torturous, isn't it? I torture you, you torture me. We seek it out. Why? You could have Allen. I could have lots of girls. So why . . ?_

_ He knew that every time he stood behind her locker door, other girls walking past stared at him. Yes, he had to admit, he probably did look sexy leaning against the lockers with his hands in his pockets and his head resting to the side. Not that she ever seemed to notice. Locker 412. April 12. His birthday. She probably didn't know that. Not that he was about to say that out of the blue. That'd make him a creeper._

_ She closed the locker door and their eyes met. After four days, this was becoming a game. _

_ "Hello, Hitomi. Can I carry your books?" He knew she would say no._

_ "No."_

_ "I feel lied to. You said you like cheese."_

_ "Yeah. But you only ask now because I said I would've let you. Now it's not fun anymore."_

_ "I see."_

_ He allowed for a pause as they walked to class. "Will you go out with me?" He knew she would ask . . ._

_ "What's the catch?"_

_ But today, today he was prepared for this question. Or he thought he was. He wasn't sure it would come off right. But he obviously couldn't keep saying "there is no catch," even if that was true. It didn't seem to be getting him anywhere. His next line, though, his next line could be misconstrued. So he had to deliver it perfectly. Had to be clearly affectionate and cheesy. He stepped in front of her to make her stop walking. She looked up at him in confusion and anger. Good. Eye contact._

_ "You're the catch."_

_ It took her a moment to see how he'd used the word differently against her, had twisted her skepticism and mistrust into something endearing, if not cliché. But clichés had to be clichés for a reason, didn't they? She wouldn't meet his gaze. She wasn't smiling. She was definitely blushing, though. He stepped aside so they could continue walking, feeling victorious. For like, a second._

_ "Why do you like me so much?"_

_ "Why do you ask so many questions?" he countered out of annoyance. He couldn't get with her no matter how many cute lines he sat around thinking up._

_ "I just don't understand how you can like me when I'm only ever mean to you," she said quietly._

_ Something like an apology? "I don't think we can control how we feel. Do you?"_

_ "No. I guess not," she admitted. They were at her class already. She looked up at him, and for once, she looked sort of scared and sad. "I guess not because I keep pushing you away, or trying to, but I really do like you even though I try not to."_

_ He processed that slowly but happily. "So you'll go out with me?"_

_ She smiled at him. "You've caught me."_

He picked up the phone and then remembered that he didn't know her number. That he didn't have an updated phone book. That he couldn't go to her apartment because Allen might be there. That he couldn't go to her apartment anyway because by the time he got back, he'd be breaking his probation curfew. He turned on his computer and hastily looked her up. Hitomi Kanzaki. Kanzaki. Stalkerish? Maybe.

He picked up the phone again. _Allen could still hear the message. Lots of things could happen._ He sat listening to the dial tone before he decided he didn't care about what Allen heard or didn't hear or any of that. Maybe Hitomi would pick up. _No. Answering machine._

He swallowed even as he heard the beep that signified that he could talk. He was beginning to cry again.

"Hitomi. I know our eyes make Christmas. And that we'll always be together."

* * *

He deleted the message. A small act that could change everything. Or nothing. It didn't matter, really. They were all damned if they did and damned if they didn't. They were just damned faster if they did.

_It's worse now. Now I'm protecting two people. I wish I could say something. I wish I could tell my sister she's being used. Not that I think Shesta is inherently a bad guy. I think he might even love her. But he's being used, too. We're all being used in this sick game. Hold knives to each others throats. Who's brave enough to stab? Not me. I'm too scared to make a tiny move from fear of pricking myself accidentally with the knife. But was this a wrong move? Will he know? Maybe. And then he would know that I'm not pushing Hitomi and Van closer together. What does it matter? In the end his gang will kill us all anyway. I know that Van ratted out all other members of the two gangs. That's why he's on probation and not a jail cell. But he couldn't find Dilandau. Dilandau is smarter than most. But gangs will never go away. Van found them all, and now he just has a new gang full of despondent, angry, impoverished people looking for protection and a family feeling._

_ And then they rise up and ruin innocent people's lives. No. They can't be completely innocent. We can never be completely innocent. Van can't be completely innocent. Folken blackmailed him and used him. So what? There's always a choice. And with choice comes risk. And neither of us was willing to risk. Neither of us wants to risk harm to the ones we love. But then we hurt them anyway. Damned if we do and damned if we don't. What can I do now? Leave? Hitomi will never come with me. My sister will never come with me. Goddammit. But then, why would they kill them then? Just to show power? Maybe. That's plausible. God. At least they can't bug and spy on thoughts. No. It's worse. They hijack my thoughts. Any thoughts I would've been having before them I can no longer have. They have hijacked my world. Even though I can't be innocent, I feel like an innocent victim. You lower your knife. Lower your knife from my neck. I don't have a knife to yours. I don't have a knife behind my back. I know if I hide a knife behind my back, you'll use my own blade. You'll make it so that I stab myself in the back. We're all stabbing ourselves in the back with the help of someone else. It's all so evil, this lying and cheating and manipulating. But we can't drop our knives. Because the one guy who didn't do it will go around and cut everyone's throat. It's a terrible cycle. A terrible, terrible cycle._

"Who called?" she asked. She had just gotten out of the shower.

"Nobody. Telemarketer."

"What? It's 9 at night."

"You think the telemarketers care?"

"Aren't there laws against these things?"

"I don't know. Probably. Again, you think they care?"

She smiled slightly, putting on her pajamas. "No. I guess not." They remained silent until she snuggled up to him on the couch. "I didn't expect you to come over tonight. What brought you so late?"

He smiled back. "The fact that I love you so much and couldn't stay away."

She lifted her head from his chest to look at his face. "Do you mean that?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Don't say things like that. Don't say 'of course'."

"Why not?"

"Because Van would say things like that," she said quietly. "And look how well that turned out. Half the things he said I don't even know if he meant anymore."

_If only you knew the truth. If only you knew that he'd just called saying something about how you'd always be together. If only you knew I knew that you go to see him. If only you could see that his hands were tied with a knife at his throat. That he was being stabbed in the back with his own knife. If only you could see these words weren't a lie. Even coming from me. _"But I mean it, Hitomi. I love you very much. And I'm sure that, even if Van . . . I don't know, even if Van doesn't love you now, I don't think he meant what he said back then to be a lie. I think he probably loved you then. And probably loves you now, at least a little."

"Does that mean I love him now, that it's okay to love him now, at least a little?"

He paused, thinking, feeling a dull sadness stab at his heart. It wasn't just a sadness for himself, that she didn't love him like she'd love Van. No. It was a sadness for her. That she needed his assurance that it was okay to still love Van even after all the cheating and the lies and the abuse. She needed to hear him say that she wasn't insane. _Well, maybe you are a little insane._ He wanted to say that. But he knew she couldn't control her feelings. And neither could he. Or Van. Feelings are irrational. And the stronger the feeling, the more irrational it becomes. _That's what's killing us all. That's what's clouding our judgment. But . . . _"It's okay for you to love him still, at least a little."

She smiled at him, hugged and kissed him. "I love you, Allen."

_Do you?_

* * *

Even though he'd said it was okay, it still bothered her, bothered her that she wanted to see him, that she felt bad about slapping him, that she wished he'd hugged her when she hid her face in her hands. And it bothered her not because of the past. It bothered her because he still wouldn't tell her the truth, even though she could easily guess it. But that only made it worse. That she knew what was going on and couldn't stop it. That neither of them could stop it or talk about it, really talk about it. Oh, she was always trying to talk about it with him. But always at the wrong times. In the beginning, she talked to him right when he came home, all drunk and drugged up. The first time she thought he and his friends had just gotten too carried away. She admonished him for such reckless behavior. He seemed to take her admonishment seriously, always apologized profusely. But there shouldn't have been an "always." He should've stopped. But he never did. At the time, she was still ignorant that it was Folken and not his friends he was hanging out with. And the lying and her admonishments finally started getting to him, so much that he told her that little bit of truth. Hurt so much that he hit her for letting himself tell the truth.

_She heard him walk drunkenly into the house, falling into the couch with a loud "motherfucker!" She walked out of their bedroom and down the stairs into the living room. She hadn't gone to sleep at all even though it was past midnight and she had work tomorrow. He'd been out drinking and, she suspected, doing drugs. Again. And she hated it._

_ "Hitomi--"_

_ "If you were actually sorry, you'd stop doing this, Van."_

_ He stared at her with unfocused eyes as the moonlight from the window silhouetted her. "Why you bother stayin' up if you're just gonna hate me?"_

_ "Because I want you to stop, Van!"_

_ "I got lots of people want me to do lots of things."_

_ "What?"_

_ "I got lots of people that want me to do lots of things!" he shouted in a slurred manner, walking staggeringly but steadily towards her. _

_ "So?" she countered. "I'm your wife."_

_ "And he's my brother!"_

_ "Folken? You've been doing this with Folken? What for? Why do you care about him more than me?" she cried._

_ He laughed. He was close to her now and his laugh scared her for reasons she couldn't explain to herself. It made her angrier. Was he mocking her, even when he was drunk? Or did he not even know what he was laughing at or what they had just been talking about? But his next line let her know that his mind was still on the conversation. "You have no idea what you're talkin' 'bout." _

_ "Of course not! Because you don't tell me!"_

_ "Just shut up."_

_ "No! You listen to me, you jackass!"_

_ "Shut up!"_

_ "No, you, you shut up!"_

_ "Shut the fuck up!"_

_ "Make me!"_

She never saw it coming. So cliché. But it was true, and she didn't really know how to think of it in any other way. She never saw it coming. Any of it. The yelling. The drugs. The lies. But no. She definitely never saw the slap coming, except for that second where she looked down at his hand rapidly coming up, hitting her cheek hard enough so that it started throbbing, so that his nails dug into her skin and made her bleed slightly. Well. It did shut her up. Shut her up in her room with the door locked.

Not that he tried to follow, except to profusely say sorry. He didn't bang on the door in anger. He didn't even plead with her to open it. He slept on the couch, and when she awoke, he woke up, too, remembering as soon as he saw the scratch across her cheek. She tried to hide it from him at first. As if it didn't happen. But he wanted to see it and she decided to let him. Let him see what he'd done to her. He hugged her and said he was sorry again and again. Said he would stop. And he did. For a little while. A month, maybe. But it just got worse after that. And all she knew was that Folken was making him do it.

"Tell me why."

He looked at her through the surely bullet-proof glass and a guard standing behind each of them. "You don't know? He still hasn't told you?"

"Don't take cheap shots, Folken. I asked you a question."

"And I answered. With two questions. Look at me. I have more questions than you! Does that mean I win?"

She didn't know what to say. She was tempted to hang up the phone right then. But she wanted the truth. This conversation hadn't even started yet.

"Answer my questions," he said.

"Fine. In order: no, no, and no."

"I disagree with your last answer."

"That's too bad."

"Is it?"

"It is. Now tell me why."

"You're so hasty. It's not every day I get to talk to my stupid brother's lovely ex-wife. Or anybody. Isn't that sad? Take pity on me."

"No. You ruined my life," she said in a steady voice.

"No, no, no, you ruined your own life. You're guilty by association. I was only aiming to ruin Van's life. Honestly. So hasty. The one thing you weren't hasty about was getting together with Van! Is that it? You sensed his evil. You should've listened to yourself."

She swallowed. He was in complete control of the conversation. Information only came in tidbits. She would have to approach the conversation differently. She needed to push Folken's buttons. "How could I stay away from Van? He was handsome and sweet and kind and was making a very decent amount of money, even in his early twenties."

"Oh, is this a new tactic? Try to make Folken jealous of Van so he'll get mad and tell you everything? Trust me, I know where all my buttons are, and I know how to stop them from being pushed."

"Van can push them."

"Are you my stupid brother?"

"No."

"Then what's your point?"

She swallowed again. _Why does there have to be a point? Why can't you just tell me why! Why can't anybody tell me why? And by anybody I mean Van. Yes. I want Van to tell me. I'm not Van. I'm not talking to Van. Even if I got Folken to tell me . . . It wouldn't be the truth. It would be part of the truth. The side of the truth I don't want. I want Van to tell me. I want to hear Van's voice tell me the truth. Not an apology. The truth. _She looked Folken in the eye for the first time in years. "I don't know what my point is. But thank you for talking to me."

"Is this it? Is that all?"

"No. I have one more question for you."

"What?"

"Do you know the one thing I like about you?"

His knitted brows let her know that she had finally caught him off-guard, even though he soon asked "what?"

"Even though it's evil . . . You at least only have one face."

* * *

"Tell me why you cared so much," he demanded quietly.

"I wouldn't say I cared _so _much," Dryden replied lowly.

"Just tell me why you helped me. Tell me how you got her address. Why."

"You know, it's nothing I couldn't look up in a telephone book."

He did know that, but that wasn't the point. Dryden's response had always been fishy. Coming to seek him out in a McDonald's. Helping him get Hitomi back. _I'm a criminal! I helped kill someone! Do people not know fear these days? Is that it? Or am I just a part of another game I never asked to play? And that you didn't even tell me we were playing. I guess I should know the rules by now. That there aren't any and whoever wins backstabs the other, right?_ "Tell me why!"

"Do you want the short, in-between, or long version?"

"Long."

"Okay, well, do you believe the world is small?"

"What?"

"Do you believe the world is small?"

"I believe you're annoying the hell out of me and you don't want to see me when I'm angry," he hissed.

"Jajuka worked here."

_Why didn't I know that? What the hell? Folken had inside intelligence on Jajuka. Yeah. That's right. Folken did. Not me. I wonder how many times he lied to me? Hid information from me? No. I probably don't actually want to know. Well, why not? The truth can't hurt me now. But it can't set me free, either. I'd feel even worse. Is that possible? Could I feel worse than I already do? Sure, why not? There's always new lows, aren't there? I could go so crazy I commit suicide. Maybe everyone would be happy then. One less lunatic._

"I didn't know that," he said, struggling to make the direct connection but not wanting to push his boss any further.

"He was going to rat out the gangs, you know. He told me that."

"That doesn't seem like something safe to tell you."

"Jajuka wasn't in his brother's gang when he told me this."

"Oh?"

"He wanted to play good cop, you know? Thought it would be easy to get Dilandau to trust him and then he would be able to hand Dilandau over to police. Jajuka, you know, he was a pretty imposing guy, but he had a kind heart. Really. He led a straight life. I don't think he could ever understand his brother, though. I think that was Jajuka's downfall."

"Where do you come in to all of this?"

"I had to play along. What would Dilandau want with his brother? Dilandau didn't need just another imposing guy. But Jajuka always knew that Dilandau needed money. Everyone always needs money, right? What else do gangs want, besides street glory? So Jajuka and I made it seem like he was stealing money from me for Dilandau. A real bad ass, that Jajuka. And I guess I wanted to play good cop, too. There are so few of them out there, really. And there are already so few cops. Not enough to stop all the shit in this city. Even the big shit. Dilandau's pretty up there. And now that your brother is gone, he's even more up there. I think he's the highest."

"I guess you stopped playing good cop."

"Well, sure, you got all of them except Dilandau. Go figure."

"Yes, go figure. This still doesn't explain why."

"You said you wanted the long version."

"I wanted the long version that makes sense!"

"Look, I knew all about you, okay? I mean about you in the housing industry and you as a gang member. Your dual personality. I guess I shouldn't say all. You can never know all, can you? You know what I meant. I mean, the point is, I don't know, you were like the Jajuka that inadvertently and indirectly shot Jajuka. Shot himself. You're the good cop with his hands behind his back and the gun to his head that turned it back on all the bad guys when free. And it's not like Dilandau's gone away. He's still out there. He knows you're still out there. You're the cop, he's the robber. Who will win?"

"I'm not looking for Dilandau," he said, even though he understood Dryden's words perfectly, could feel their dead weight being placed on his shoulder.

"No. But Dilandau's looking for you. Waiting to kill you. You thought I still wasn't playing good cop. Well, I am. I'm your partner. And I don't want you to be another Jajuka. I want you to vanquish the bad guy and save the girl."

"Oh, it's just really fucking peachy . . ."

* * *

She'd been going to the _Cosi's_ everyday, waiting for him to come back. It was her normal spot anyway. Okay, honestly, she did avoid it for awhile. Then she decide to go at a different time. Then she decided that she simply didn't want to have her life dictated by him, so she'd go whenever she wanted. But now she admitted that she just wanted to see him. Even though he hadn't been back. _Why? I would think he would take every chance he got to come and bother me. I guess he wouldn't know that I'm here basically every day. Maybe he came when I decided not to come anymore. No. He would've been diligent about it. Much more diligent than I've been. But that's okay. Because I've always come here for lunch. It's no great disappointment when he doesn't come. So why can't I focus on this book? Why? Why is this stupid question always in my head? Why, why, why? It hurts today more than usual._

"Can I sit with you, or will you slap me if I do?"

She looked up abruptly from her book. This was a different sort of _No. Fucking. Way._

He smiled. "I'll take that as a 'Yes Van, you can sit with me and I won't slap you'."

"As if I would slap you in such a public place."

"Is this fake-snarkiness I'm sensing?"

"You think it's fake?"

"Before this conversation gets any further, I'm going to say happy birthday."

_Damn it, I was hoping you'd say that!_ "You remembered."

"Of course I did." He said it lowly, in a half-whisper, an alluring voice that she missed. That she didn't want to fight anymore. Except she couldn't forgive it, could she? That lying, alluring voice. "Why are you here alone on your birthday?"

She looked at his face and tried to think of some non-cheesy sounding lie. _I told them I didn't like surprises? I told Allen off? Nobody knows my birthday, it's a secret? Nobody loves me enough to care? Except you, of course. Of course. It's like when you told me I was the catch. I'm the catch still. And you caught me again. You caught me again, dammit. _"Because I was hoping you'd remember and come."

He swallowed, swallowed her openness and reveled in its delicious taste. His message must have done some good. He looked into her hesitant eyes and unsmiling face and smiled. Perhaps the truth would set him free after all. "Of course I remembered. Of course I came. I'll always be there for you. I'll come wherever you want me to."

"Don't say things like that," she whispered, looking away from him, and he knew he'd gone too far. _And she's right. I shouldn't say things like that. I only make it harder on myself. Make it more impossible. I'm no Prince Charming. I don't even want to be. But I caught you like this before. With my suave words. But I'm not a ruthless hunter. I want you to come to me because you want me. So yes. Reject my words. See past them. See the truth. That's what we're all missing. The truth. But the truth is I try to do the best for you that I can. I try to make the words I say a reality. Our eyes make Christmas, your favorite holiday. Happiness. I'm trying to make you happy. To make us happy. _

"Okay, I won't say things like that. Or I'll try not to."

It was different than Allen's response, the hurt "why not?" as if she were being ridiculous. But Van could see through his own words. Could see that he wanted her to see through them, too. The words were just there to lure her in. But that was what it was always really about. Seeing past his faces. Seeing who they really were. Understanding. Who were they, really? How did she know that this feeling she had, no, the many, many feelings she had when she thought about him, meant she loved him? How could she know?

_He glanced around her room and she feared he was making all sorts of judgments about her based on her Nicholas Sparks books or the Big Bird doll she used as a door stop or her collection of dance/techno CDs that she never danced to or the multi-colored hearts behind her door or her Roxy black and white floral comforter or the sand-bottle and other arts and crafts things she did when she was younger. Remodeling her room wasn't really something she ever did. Everything just kind of built up in her room._

_ "Do you own every Nicholas Sparks book?" he asked._

_ And so his judgment was passed!_

_ "Maybe."_

_ "So you are a romantic."_

_ "Maybe."_

_ He laughed. "Harder for you to say no when there's evidence otherwise?"_

_ "Maybe."_

_ His smile widened. "This is why I like you."_

_ "You make no sense."_

_ He sat down on her bed and took off his shoes, looking up at her. She put her book bag next to her bed and followed his lead. He smiled again as if to assure her that his sitting on her bed didn't make them have this awkward moment of intimacy. Or maybe it was supposed to be some sort of invitation of intimacy. She really couldn't figure it out. Her only reference was, indeed, Nicholas Sparks and other random romance novels. And songs. And sitcoms. And movies. And her friends. Okay. That's a lot of references. But they're never helpful in the end. Or maybe she'd missed all the sections about sitting on beds and smiling._

_ "So, do you always do your homework right after school?"_

_ "No, not right after, usually. I take a break for an hour or two. Eat food, watch TV. But I thought sports teams practiced a lot. Don't you have hockey practice after school?"_

_ He laughed. "No, we only have practice once a week. And it's at 9 o'clock. I play for other teams, though, so I do have practice later. But it's never that soon after school."_

_ "Oh."_

_ "Maybe if our school had a rink on school grounds. But come on. We don't even have lights on our football field."_

_ "I still would've thought you practiced more than once a week."_

_ "Well, _I _do."_

_ "That must be why you're the captain, huh?"_

_ "We have a game this Friday night. You should come and see why I'm captain for yourself," he said with a smile._

_ "But then you'll be wearing a face mask."_

_ "Huh? I'm so confused."_

_ "Nothing . . ."_

"Hitomi?" She looked up when he said her name rather than saying a sharp "what?"

"I have a present for you. But I . . . couldn't bring it with me. Can't physically hand it to you. Can you come over later so I can give it to you? It's okay if you can't . . . But tell me when you can."

"Do you know how shady that sounds?" she asked, poking around at the remains of her salad with her fork.

"There's no other way I can say it without giving it away, if I haven't already."

"I honestly don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, good. It's a surprise, then. Will you come tonight?"

"Tomorrow night."

"Is that a promise?"

She looked him in the eyes. "I'll come wherever you want me to."

**AN: So. This is much longer than the other chapters. More dialogue, I guess. But still. I guess I rushed the end. But I'm just like "I just want to get on with it!" And besides. I wanted to make sure I finished it before I went back to school. And today's my birthday, so it's a birthday present to myself. Other birthday presents to myself: a doctor's appointment and a phone interview. Fun times! But now I'm old. I'm 20. There's a 2 in front now. The humanity.**

**I hope that you enjoyed it regardless of the emoness and rushed-ness. And the heavy face metaphors and whatnot. Sorry it wasn't as cute as last chapter. We had to get down to the nitty-gritty sometime. Don't worry. I think it gets better from here. But I'm not sure I'll be able to make such a great climax . . .**

**Please review. It will make my birthday suck less.**

**-Spirit0**


	8. Not Getting Any Better

Something I Missed

**AN: I started this awhile ago. Over a year ago. I'm sorry. I don't really know where that year went. Another torturous year of school, I guess. I don't enjoy college like people say you're supposed to. Last semester I started going to the school psychologists because I have a paralyzing fear of talking in class. I think everyone else is smarter than me. Even when I really want to say something, my heart races and by the time I work up the courage to speak, what I wanted to say is no longer relevant (so I don't say anything). I've been laughed at in language classes (Japanese and German) because I have difficulty understanding questions and I often get the answer wrong. Part of the reason is because I'm so afraid of being called on in the first place that I get too nervous to focus. Getting the answer wrong reinforces the thoughts that I'm stupid, which of course makes me more nervous and disheartened the next time I'm called on.**

**I know I'm not stupid. I just feel stupid in comparison to the other students. I always wanted to go to this school, one of the best colleges in the US, to prove to my family and my friends that I could be smart, that I wouldn't end up in a dead-end job making no money and drinking a lot, like most of them, that I could get out of our neighborhood that generations of my family has lived in, like we're all trapped there—feelings that started this story in the first place. But I've never felt that I belonged at this school. The other student's minds seem to work on a higher level, and most are rich. Maybe this is because I have such shoddy motivations.**

**Worst of all, though, I honestly feel like it's deadened my imagination. So I don't know how this will turn out. In my head, I always think, "this story is terrible." But I reread the last chapter to try to get back into it. It wasn't so bad.**

**I don't want all of you to get the wrong ideas about me. I'm not really that sad in real life. I just have some problems that have been interfering with my imagination. We all have problems, which is sad. But now it's summer. School isn't killing my imagination. It isn't soaking up all my time (though working is). So I'm going to try to finish this story. I just need to find the determination!  
**

Chapter Seven: Not Getting Any Better

"Where are we going?" she asked as he pulled out of the driveway. He was heading in the opposite direction of downtown or the mall or anywhere, really. _Nowhere. The woods. To kill me._

"If I told you, don't you think that would ruin the surprise? The last surprise turned out okay, didn't it?" he asked. He didn't know where this suspicion was coming from now. She was probably forcing it on herself again. _But she's already in the car. She could jump out, though, when I stop. Oh God. I'm so fucking paranoid. Is this how she thinks? Oh God. Why does everything have to turn into some terrible source of manipulation and abuse, huh? We make each other paranoid. This is terrible. I almost want to tell you where we're going now._

"Yeah . . . It did, but . . ."

"But now you've remembered that I'm scary, so you're scared."

_I had hoped that saying it out loud would make the fear go away. But not when you say it. The way you say it, ask it, it doesn't make the fear go away. The mixture of malice and hurt makes me feel ridiculous, but it doesn't make the fear go away. Last time, last time you were crying and it took me by surprise so the fear temporarily went away. I don't know that my fear of you will ever go away. But my love for you doesn't go away, either. How do I reconcile the feelings without allowing myself to go crazy? Maybe if I say it . . ._

"Yes. That I'm scared of you. At least a little." _But I also love you, at least a little._

He laughed. "I thought you might be thinking that, and then I was like, well, she can always jump out of the car and run if I scare her that much." He turned to face her for a second. "But I really hope you don't do that."

"I'd be scared you'd chase me."

"I'd chase you because I wouldn't want you to get hurt, not because I'd hurt you."

"At least you admitted you'd chase me."

He wasn't sure what to make of this conversation. _It doesn't seem to have made her less afraid of me at all. If anything, I think it's made her more afraid. I meant it to be both cute and a joke. Everything I say is misconstrued or hurts you._ _The 'catch' metaphor. You're the catch. You're the best damn catch out there. If only you knew that. If only you'd believe me, if only you'd get it if I said it. But you wouldn't. _"We're almost there."

"That's good," she said. Her heart was beating fast. She's scared. _But not that he'll kill me. I mean, I guess that's part of it. But I know he wouldn't do that. I'm scared I'll really love his gift. I'm scared of what will happen if I do. Love is scary. Why does everything, even the good things, why do they have to be scary?_

_As soon as her head rested on his pillow with his lips still pressed to hers, she knew, knew that they'd go farther than they had before. In that instant of realization, it scared her. But he felt her apprehension when she pressed her lips to his with less intensity and he started, to her surprise, to kiss less intensely as well. His hands, instead of remaining at her waist, ran through her hair, wildly at first, but then more gently, until her head was just resting in his hands. He came in for one more kiss, sucking on her lower lip even as he moved away, holding on until he couldn't hang on any longer. And then he opened his eyes, playing with the ends of her hair, watching her open her eyes a second later._

_ "Are you scared?" he whispered._

_ "I dunno . . . Aren't you just supposed to tell me to not be scared? That you won't hurt me?" she asked._

_ He smiled. "Well, they are both true. But I'm not gonna do anything you don't want me to."_

_ "Won't you be . . . frustrated?"_

_ "Hm . . . maybe a little."_

_ "You take off your shirt first."_

_ "Okay," he whispered, sitting up and pulling his shirt over his head, discarding it at the end of the bed. It was so easy for guys. They had nothing to hide. Even as she ran her fingers over his nipples, she knew that that touch didn't effect him as much as his touching her like that would. Even as she gently pushed him back and rolled on top of him, kissing his shoulder, giving him a hickey here and there before coming back up to kiss his lips, she knew that they were both being more and more turned on by the hand he'd placed under her shirt, running along her spine, creeping higher and higher until it reached the clip of her bra, which his fingers undid with some difficulties. She felt the pressure under her breasts disappear and stopped kissing him._

_ They both opened their eyes again in the dim light, the sun going down behind the shades of the window. He kissed her with his eyes open, pushing her back lightly, challenging, daring her to say she didn't want it as he again was on top of her, his hand cupping her breast and squeezing lightly, his tongue exploring her mouth while his thumb moved back and forth over her nipple, the nipple hardening. But in another moment of fear, she said "no" into the darkness, into his lips, the lips that pulled away along with the hand under her shirt the moment she said it. He rolled onto his side, eyes open, facing her, stroking her cheek with the hand that had been stroking her breast._

_ "I'm sorry . . ." she said, burrowing her head further into the pillow. _

_ He inched closer to her so that their foreheads almost touched, his thumb still moving over her cheek. "It's okay."_

_ "You're just saying that to be nice."_

_ "I mean . . . it's not like I'm not disappointed. But, I dunno, it was a start, and I wouldn't want you to be scared of me."_

_ "You're so nice to me. . . ."_

_ He smiled. "I'm sorry? Did you want me to be mean?"_

_ "I don't know what I want. Except you. I want you, even though I am scared," she said, hugging him and resting her head in the crook of his neck. He hugged her back and kissed the top of her head._

_ "It's okay. I like just laying here with you like this, kissing you like this," he said, before lifting her face to his and kissing her softly on the lips. "And besides. All the hockey guys will get to see these hickeys you gave me and then they'll just think you're a tiger in bed anyway."_

_ "Van!" she exclaimed, blushing because she hadn't thought about that, hearing him laugh before pressing his smiling lips to hers, thinking about how fun it was to tease her, hoping teasing would make her fear disappear eventually._

He knew this present won't make her fears disappear. Would she ever trust him again? _I know she wants to. If she didn't want to, she could have a restraining order placed on me. If she didn't want to trust me, she wouldn't come over and slap me and remind me that our eyes make Christmas. Well, I'm going to show her it's not just our eyes that make Christmas. We make Christmas. We make happiness. _

"We're here," he says, stating the obvious because he didn't know what else to say as he pulled up to park.

She stared out the window, at the trees. He brought her to the woods after all. Sort of. "Your present to me is a Christmas tree?" she asked, looking at him now, her eyes narrowed.

"You don't like it?" he asked, smiling. "But Christmas is your favorite holiday."

"I can't have a real tree in my apartment . . ."

"No, it's for the house," he said. He can no longer look her in the eyes. "I figured we could decorate it tonight, together. You don't have to, though. You can say no right now, even though you said you'd go wherever I wanted."

She thinks of her fake tree at home. It's smaller than the trees she and Van used to get, both in height and width. Aside from that, she should like it much more than a real tree, right? No pine needles that need to be vacuumed every few days. She didn't need to water it. She didn't need to make sure it was strapped to the top of the car securely. But in the end, she only got it because it was the only option she had: it was either a fake tree or no tree at all. _Why do there always have to be these painful choices? These choices where neither option is good, and you have to determine which is less bad? Because I don't want to leave you right now. But I don't want to stay, either. I think I thought those in the wrong order._

"Do you remember the measurements, how tall it can be?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "It can be seven and a half feet tall."

"Did you measure that before leaving, or did you remember?"

"I remembered," he said quietly. In the dim light, she could see that his eyes were staring at the ground. Then he looked at her again, and she could see the fire from the lights around them in his eyes. "Why did you come along on the last surprise without hesitating?"

"I hesitated. You don't think I hesitated? How could I not?" she said.

"You're just forcing yourself to hesitate now."

"Maybe. It's just, you know . . . last time, you were crying," she said quietly. Now she was the one looking at the ground. "I've hardly ever seen you cry, so . . . I didn't know what else to do."

_I'm trying to think of the other times I've cried, and of course the one my mind automatically jumps to is the first time. I want to ask you if you remember the first time. But of course you do. Not just because it was the first time you saw me cry. Hardly. Just because of everything surrounding it. Because of what my friends did to you. What I couldn't protect you from. How your parents tried to separate us. They must be so happy now. We're separated. There's only an armrest between us right now, but it might as well be an ocean. I'm trying to swim across that ocean, even though I know I'll never make it. I can't make it unless you come meet me halfway. In a boat. Ready to save me. _

"Well, I'm not manipulating your feelings with my tears now, so you can decide for yourself," he said.

"Right." She laughed a little. _What bullshit. Myself? Where does the me that you shaped and the me that is my true self begin? If I had found myself again, don't you think I'd forget about you? You're in my head. I know you're there. I know you have feelings. I remember what you did to me, your fist in my face. But I also remember your lips on my lips. Half of my life, I've been with you, thinking about you. All I ever wanted was to be strong and independent. That's how I thought of myself before I met you. And then you came and said you'd always stay by my side. And now you want us to be separate. Get real!_

"Let's go before it gets too late," she said, turning away from him to get out of the car.

/ 3

_"She's with him right now, you know."_

He shut his eyes, trying to calm his wildly beating heart. "Hello, Dilandau."

"_Did you hear what I said, Allen?"_

"I heard what you said," Allen said. _I heard it way too clearly. But I admire you for that. You get straight to the point, while others tiptoe around what they really want to say. I wonder if that's what turned you into an angry murderer. Maybe all you ever wanted was for people to listen to your criticisms and insights about life. But they never did because you were from the ghetto. You were stupid. So now you're here to prove the power of words, of self-fulfilling prophecies, mixed with firearms. _In his mind, he could see Dilandau's actual arms on fire. It was a fitting image for the albino, since he was a pyro and all.

_"You're a terrible boyfriend. You don't even care that your girlfriend is off cheating on you."_ Dilandau laughed into the phone loudly. Allen pulled the receiver away from his ear until he couldn't hear Dilandau laughing anymore.

"I care. I'm doing exactly what you told me to," Allen said. It was hard to keep anger and hatred and loathing out of his voice, especially on the phone. Not that Dilandau needed a valid reason to kill you. He just needed to think of any reason to hate you at all so that he could kill you. Allen's lips formed a smile that meant the opposite of everything a smile should mean. _I'm condemning this guy for twisting reality. But we all do that. And then we all search for truth. And then we can't make each other understand the other's point of view and how our perceptions affect the lives of others. Dilandau just makes sure you know, definitively, the consequences of your actions._

"_Maybe not exactly. You deleted that message from Van, after all_."

"What was I supposed to do? I was there, I heard it, and then she would know that I heard it and that I could infer the rest."

"_There's always a choice. It could've played out any number of ways. We'll just have to wait and see if you made the right choice, won't we?_" Dilandau said. He started laughing again. Then he hung up. Allen kept the receiver pressed to his ear a bit longer. If he'd had the courage, and if Dilandau hadn't hung up, he would've asked, "_If there's always a choice, why did you choose to live like this_?"

/ 3

Sometimes, in his sleep, he would scream out Jajuka's name. And then he would wake up, and the scream would stop almost immediately. Because he would remember that Jajuka was dead. Murdered by Folken and his little pansy brother, Van.

He woke up every morning and reminded himself: _There were two people I trusted most in this world. Jajuka and Folken. Folken and his son of a bitch brother Van killed Jajuka. And since I can't kill Folken, I'll have to settle for killing Van. A life for a life. _

_ But I'm gonna torture Van first, oh yes._ Dilandau was beginning to smile, sitting in his plush red chair in the dim light, staring at nothing. _I'll let him win Hitomi back. I have Allen half-encouraging it. _He tried to imagine Allen's voice in his head saying, "_Oh yes, Hitomi dearest, it's okay for you to still love Van, it's perfectly natural." _He frowned. _It's also perfectly natural to leave kids to starve on the street. To beat them every day. To give them nothing and then tell them they can achieve everything. _He clenched his teeth together. His hands were gripping the chair tightly. _Jajuka was better. He went to school and got a real job. And he still protected me. And that bastard shot him. That bastard from the suburbs, that bastard who had it easy and threw it away! For petty jealousy of his brother. _

_ It's natural that I want to kill Van. It's natural that I want to make it the most painful death possible. I'll let him win Hitomi back. I'll let him be happy. Then I'll terrorize her. And I'll kill him. Should I kill her, too? Is that natural? _He found a lighter on the table and started playing with it. _Or should I kill her instead, and make Van watch? Let him live, knowing he was powerless? Because he's a pansy. Both plans are good. I could kill them both. But then nobody's suffering enough. One needs to live._

_ Which one?_

/ 3

They were listening to Christmas carols and decorating the tree. They didn't talk much. Which was good, because she wasn't sure she could speak at the moment, anyway. _I want to cry. I'm having a nostalgia attack. Nostalgia is never happy. No, the memories themselves are happy. It's just that the present is never that happy. But this moment really is happy. Or should be. We're making Christmas. Everything should be right in the world. And yet it reminds me that this isn't how it should be. We're not married anymore. I should hate him. But that's not something you should be thinking around Christmas, right? Don't Christians preach forgiveness? Am I supposed to forgive him?_

"What?" he asked. She looked up at his face then turned away quickly. She had been looking at him when she was thinking before, but she didn't really see him. She was just staring into space, zoning out.

"Nothing," she said. _I can't tell him that this reminds me of when we were married. Only it's even better than that, or should be. Before, you would complain about decorating. Now, you seem so happy doing it. It's a trick. It's not like when we were married at all. It's like when we were dating. I thought you were perfect. And you tried to be. You wanted to prove to me you were a nice and lovable and loving guy._

_ That's the real you, isn't it? The drugs just created the other you and turned you into a demon._

"You don't do drugs anymore, right?" she asked, searching through the box of ornaments to find one she liked enough to hang on the tree.

"No. They don't fuel your drug addictions in jail."

"Right."

"Why did you ask?"

"Just wondering," she said.

"I see. . . ." he said, looking down at the floor, then back up at her. He really looked at her—her hair, he face, her eyes. Her hair was longer than he ever remembered seeing it before. She usually kept it about shoulder-length or got a pixie cut. But now it was a few inches past her shoulders. The longer hair made her look older. Or maybe it was just because she was older. Her face had definitely lost that youthful look. _Or was that my fault, for slapping her in the face too many times? _He looked at her eyes. Of course, they were the same color as before, that graceful green. But they seemed colder and more distant.

"Now it's my turn to ask, what?" she said.

He tried to smile, but it was so much effort he let it fall back into a frown. "Do you still read Nicholas Sparks books?"

"That's _not _what you were thinking about," she said.

"No, but it's related."

"Yeah, I do still read them."

"What about dance music? Does Allen know about that?"

"He makes fun of me for liking dumb pop songs just because they're catchy. I listen to a lot more alternative now."

"Oh . . ." _That bastard_.

"Why are you asking me all these questions?" she asked.

"Because when I look at you right now, all I can see are the differences. The physical differences. I wanted to know how much you've changed on the inside, too. How much the differences are just from ago, how much it's Allen's influence, how much is damage from me hurting you. I want to know whether there's some unalterable essence that is you, or whether I've damaged you enough to destroy that you. Because I want to make sure the Hitomi I fell in love with is still there."

She looked away from him, saying, "Van, I told you not to say -"

"Say stuff like that?" he cut her off. "I know. But you'll be happy to know that I only want to know about you for self-centered reasons. I want to be assured that there's some unalterable me. That the drugged me isn't the real me. That the drugged me didn't destroy the real me."

_There is no real you!_ She wanted to yell. _Stop saying this crap. People change. Things happen in life and they change you. Look at you. Having fun decorating. Maybe you think it's fun now because you're fresh out of jail and you miss me. Jail changed you. Maybe that will wear off. Maybe it won't. I don't plan to stick around to find out!_

"I wish you'd say something," he said.

"No, you don't," she said. Her eyebrows knitted together in anger. "Because all I'm wondering is if this—all of this beautiful bullshit you're spouting—is all part of your cocky plan to win me back, to trap me again."

Even as her anger rose, she became more conscious of the pendant hanging around her neck, under her shirt, warm between her breasts, over her heart. Images of crying in Van's arms, of how he used to whisper in her ear that he'd never leave her, and how he wouldn't let anyone hurt her like that ever again.

"Stop pretending like I never loved you!" His voice rose with each word. He saw her body tense at the end of his outburst, steadying herself for a slap. He looked away, clenching his teeth, trying to calm down. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. Just . . . I wish _you_ wouldn't say things like that. Don't deny that we were happy. That I loved you and you loved me. I mean, you could've sent me to jail until I was an old man, on domestic violence charges. But you didn't."

"I wish I had!" she yelled. "And not because you abused me! Because you didn't trust me! You never told me what was wrong! I went to see Folken, and he just talked nonsense! Why! Just tell me why!"

He swallowed and looked at the half decorated tree. _Why is it so hard to tell you? It's just frustrating because I guess I always thought you'd figure out why. That you'd assume I was doing it to protect you. I don't know why I thought that, even after I slapped you across the face countless times. But I could never tell you because Folken would know I told you. But Folken's not here now. So why am I so afraid? Because of Dilandau? Dilandau wants me dead no matter what I do or don't say, so what does it matter? But I'm still scared. What am I more scared of, though: Dilandau shooting me, or losing Hitomi forever?_

"I was trying to protect you," he whispered. "I was trying to protect you both—you and Folken. But I couldn't protect either of you." It felt like something was stuck in his throat, and his eyes were beginning to sting. "It was just like back then. I can never protect you. Only it was worse this time." He tried to breathe deeply to stave off the tears, but his voice broke halfway through his next sentence. "Because this time . . . instead of, instead of protecting you, I . . . I was the guy hurting you like that."

_"Bro, you don't hang out with us anymore," Miguel said. Miguel had short brown hair that was slightly too long and partially covered his dark blue eyes. Though Miguel was one of his best friends, Van found it off-putting that Miguel always seemed to be scowling, even when he was happy. And his stormy blue eyes, blue like the murky depths of the ocean, always gave Van pause. It always gave girls pause, too. In a good way. They found this shade of blue a nice change of pace from the sky blue eyes. But they quickly realized that Miguel was quite scary – he lived up to his hockey team nickname, Ghoul, which the team used simply because it was shorter than Miguel. Right now, Miguel was definitely feeling ghoulish: both his voice and eyes were full of a quiet thunder._

_ "What are you talking about? We see each other several times a week," Van replied, slamming his locker shut and locking it. He was just going to pretend there was nothing wrong while at the same time trying to get Miguel to calm down. The two started walking to class together. _

_ "Only at hockey practices," Miguel said, shaking his head._

_ "We're talking right now, and this definitely isn't hockey practice," Van said with a laugh. "And there's also, you know, hockey _games."

_ "See, you're making dumbass jokes because you know what I'm talking about," Miguel said, the rumble in his voice getting louder, more sustained. "You know you've been spending all your time with your nerd chick and no time with your friends."_

_ Van had to resist the urge to defend Hitomi and say she wasn't a nerd chick. "I know, man. I'm sorry. I don't really have an excuse."_

_ "We used to be best friends. Now you're letting some girl come between us. What happened to bros before hos, huh?" Miguel asked._

_ "I dunno. I fell in love with a girl who's not a ho, therefore I cannot put my bros before her?" Van said._

_ "Don't! Don't get all cheesy on me! Did she teach you to talk all smart like that?"_

_ "No. That's how I won her over in the first place, with my smooth tongue. That sounded a lot dirtier than I intended it to," Van said._

_ "Have you slept with her?"_

_ "Yeah, don't you remember the hickeys?" Van said, without thinking. Then he thought, and his brain waves confused him. That probably wasn't a smart move and might ruin Hitomi's reputation, was his first thought, which was quickly overruled by the thought, Miguel is my best friend, and I haven't been telling him this stuff, but he should probably know. He continued, boasting, "Who do you think I am?"_

_ "Ha! I think you're a guy who's gotten lame and forgotten the rest of the world over some nerd chick. Let's hang out on Friday, yeah?" Miguel said. He was in a different class than Van, and had to turn the corner._

_ "We have a game."_

_ "Saturday night, then."_

_ "Yeah, okay, see you then."_

He wondered where the story started in Hitomi's head, and then he remembered he had probably shared his conversation with Miguel with her several times. But did that mean she started this terrible story there?

_"So what are you doing tonight without me?" he asked as she started packing up her backpack. They had been doing homework. Or trying to, anyway. He was at least pretending he was doing homework. Mostly he had just watched her do it instead and wondered what she found so interesting about it all. He didn't mean that in a skeptical, "this stuff is bullshit" sort of way. He just wanted to understand it like her._

_ "I'm going shopping with Yukari," she said. "And don't make me feel bad for not spending my Saturday night with you. It's your own fault."_

_ "I know. But it's good for us, right?"_

_ "Yes."_

_ "What are you going to buy?" he asked._

_ "I don't know. Probably nothing," she said._

_ "You're a strange girl. You're not going to buy yourself a pretty dress?"_

_ "Do you _want _me to?" she asked, looking over at him as she stuff the last of her notebooks into her backpack. "What are you implying?"_

_ "Nothing. I don't care what you do. You're pretty no matter what."_

_ "I find it hard to believe that, especially coming from you, Mr. Six Pack over there."_

_ "You just have an inferiority complex. You're beautiful," he said, smiling at the immediate silence that followed. She tried to hide her pinkening face as she zipped up the backpack. The only safe place to hide it was in his chest, which she fell into in a spontaneous hug._

_ "You shouldn't say these sorts of things," she said, the fabric of his shirt tickling her cheek. "I never know what to say back."_

_ "Well, I like hugs, this is nice," he said, pressing her closer to him. _

_ "It is nice, but I have to go," she said, looking up at him. She leaned in to kiss him quickly. "Don't have too much fun without me," she said. _

_ "I won't," he said. There was a smile on his face, but she somehow knew he was being serious. _

_ But when he went out a few hours later with Miguel to a party, he had to admit, he was having a lot of fun. Most of the hockey team was at the party, too. Most of them were getting drunk and then dancing. Van initially avoided the dancing, because dancing in high school was basically just having sex with clothes on. The more tipsy he got, though, the more he lost the will to fight Miguel as he pushed Van into the mesh of sweaty bodies bobbing up and down. Girls would dance with him, and he figured this was okay, especially since they kept asking if he was dating Hitomi, and he said yes. _

_ He got a lot of mixed responses to this. Some of the drunker girls would ask if he was willing to cheat on her. He said no. Others got all up on him with their dancing, asking why he would choose to go out with a nerd when he could have any girl in the room, including her, and she would do whatever he wanted. He would mutter something about how big brains with decent breasts turned him on more than just big boobs alone, and then move on. _

_ "I voted for you guys, for cutest couple, in the yearbook, you know," one of his female classmates shouted at him over the music. "Only 'cause of you, though. And 'cause there aren't any other cute couples."_

_ "Thanks," he said. The song was ending, and he was tired of dancing. He went to get a drink and talk with his teammates. He had forgotten about the year book contests. All of the seniors at Fanelia high got to vote on the best of certain things. Most were silly, like best dressed, best guitar player. But cutest couple. He wanted to win that with Hitomi. It felt like something that people might actually remember. _

_ Thinking of the contest, he started feeling horrible for having danced with other girls, especially when he thought about Hitomi loved dance music, but Van and her had never danced. Despite all this running through his head, when he saw his teammates, he smiled a little. "Yo, did you guys – the seniors, I mean – did you vote for me and Hitomi as cutest couple for the yearbook, even though she's not a senior?"_

_ "Of course, bro. I don't even know who else there is to vote for. I mean, everyone else, I think they're just together to sleep with each other, you know?" Dallet said. The team usually called him Let, because he was the goaltender, and they liked to joke with him when he let in lots of goals._

_ "Besides, you and Hitomi do look cute in the halls, holding hands and laughing and shit," Guimel said. Guimel was usually pretty quiet, but the alcohol must've loosened him up a bit. His nickname was simply Mel._

_ "Thanks, guys," Van said. "I guess."_

_ They talked and danced and drank the rest of the night away. Van didn't drink much more, though. He decided, even with slightly impaired judgment, that he didn't want to kill himself and Miguel on the drive home. By the time they decided to leave, around 12:30am, the effects of the alcohol had mostly worn off. And Van managed to get home before 1am. He thought this was pretty good, that he had successfully had lots of fun, but not _too _much fun, and not gotten in trouble, until he noticed the cop car parked outside his house._

_ He drove by his house. Why were cops there? Had his mom called the cops on him? What the hell? He knew they had probably seen him, somehow. He had tried not to stop, because then they would see his headlights. But he had slowed down. And they were probably looking out the window at every car that passed. Well, shit, he thought. Then he was just making it worse by running away. He half expected the cops to start chasing him. This didn't happen. After 10 minutes, he decided to go home. They couldn't do anything to him. They had no proof._

_ He walked in, trying to act concerned. He had planned to ask simply, "why are the cops here? Is something wrong?" But when he took a look at his mom's face, her eyes teary, her hands squeezed together, he knew something was definitely wrong. The officer was standing by the door, a middle-aged guy with brown hair in a buzz cut, stocky, looking impassive. He stood up straight when Van walked in. _

_ "What's going on here?" Van blurted out. "What's wrong?"_

_ "You're Mr. Van Fanel, I assume?" the officer asked. "I'm officer Byrd."_

_ "Yes, but what's going on?" Van asked, going to his mother, who was sitting on the couch._

_ She turned towards him when he sat down next to her, saying, "Honey, please do everything the officer says, okay?"_

_ He swallowed. "What's going on? Where's dad? Where's Folken?"_

_ "We're right here," his father said, standing at the end of the hallway entering the hallway, fatigue evident in his voice. Folken was standing behind him, leaning against the wall, smirking._

_ "What's wrong? Why's there a cop here?" Van asked, now defensive._

_ "Honey," his mother said, making sure he was looking straight at her. "Hitomi is missing."_

**AN: I have more of this written, it's just, this chapter was getting way too long for my liking, so I decided to split it up. Especially since it was making me skimp out on stuff. I still think I copped out. Sigh. I'm sorry it sucked. And took so long. It took like a month. I told you I lost my magic. Side note, the title of this chapter is from a song "Not Getting Any Better" by Innerpartysystem. Listen to it, it's the bomb!  
**

**Okay, I also got a bit distracted (if you can't tell by my ADHD noting of things). I read the Hunger Games, and it freaking hijacked my imagination. If you haven't read those books yet, you definitely should! Katniss Everdeen is my new role model/hero. SO GOOD.**

**Anyway, please review. I love them things. They give me hope. And special thanks to riga91!**

**-Spirit0**


	9. Sleep to Dream

Something I Missed

**AN: Oh yeah. I titled this "Something I Missed" for a reason. I should get back to that, shouldn't I? Warning: still didn't do that. Oh, me. **

**Chapter 8: Sleep to Dream**

_ "I need to ask you a few questions regarding Hitomi Kanzaki, Van," officer Byrd said. _

_ Van began swallowing repeatedly, trying to get rid of the awful-tasting thoughts that ran through his mind. Hitomi is missing? Is she dead? Was she murdered? No. No way. What the hell. This couldn't be happening. He felt the blood draining from his face. No, he told himself. Stop speculating. Fear won't make anything better. "What's going on?" was all he managed to ask, in a small voice._

_ "Hitomi Kanzaki was reported missing around 9 tonight," officer Byrd said, still standing by the door, talking to Van across the room. Like he didn't want to get too close to Van because then he would have to feel Van's pain. "Her friend Yukari said Hitomi was supposed to be at her house by 8, but never showed up. Yukari called Hitomi's house, and her parents noticed her car was still in the driveway, but she was nowhere to be found. They tried to get in contact with you, but you had just left."_

_ He hated himself. He hated himself more than anything. He was such a jackass. He should've protected her. Instead, he was out dancing with other girls. Now he might never get to dance with Hitomi like that. She could be dead. His imagination started choking him — he couldn't inhale or exhale anymore, let alone talk. In his mind, he saw himself lying next to her, in his bed, and her smiling at him. He saw her walking down the hall at school, alone, focusing on nothing, until she saw him and smiled. This might be a smile that only existed in his dreams now. He felt fingers wrap around his. His mother's hand. Not Hitomi's._

_ "Now, Van, you were with Hitomi this afternoon, until about seven. Is this correct?" officer Byrd asked. He had a hand-held recorder._

_ His mother's hand was making his hand clammy, so he pulled away from the discomfort. Both of his hands eventually covered his face as he tried to block out the world around him. _

_ "Van, I know it's hard, but I need you to answer my questions," officer Byrd said._

_ Van's hands balled into fists and he looked at the cop, clenching his teeth. "Yes," he said lowly. "I saw her this afternoon, and she was smiling and laughing and excited, and now you're asking me stupid questions while she's out there suffering and you're not even looking for her!" By the end, he was screaming._

_ "We're looking for clues," officer Byrd said. "You are a person of interest, because you were the last to see her before she went missing."_

_ "You think I did this?" Van yelled. He wanted to punch something. The cop. The person who actually did this. Yes. The person who ruined his life. He tried to imagine this person, but he couldn't. He had no idea who would do this to Hitomi. _

_ His mother was saying something to him, about how the officer was just doing his job. Yes. This was true. He unclenched his fist. Van was the only lead. He was the only one with a suspected motive, even though he didn't do it. He had to cooperate. He had to find Hitomi._

_ "Van, we're just asking questions. We don't know who did this," officer Byrd said. "Now, are you ready to answer the rest?"_

_ "Of course I'm not ready to answer your questions," Van said. There was no anger in his voice, but the officer was still shocked. "Who is ever prepared to answer these questions?" he whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm as ready as I'll ever be, that's what I mean."_

_ "Right," officer Byrd said. "Now, when was the last time you saw Hitomi?"_

_ "Around seven, like you said," he said. Time hadn't been important to him in the afternoon, when he just assumed he'd be seeing Hitomi the next day. Now he wondered why he couldn't remember every detail of their time together, why he hadn't held on to every minute of it. _

_ "Where did you last see her?" the officer asked._

_ "Here. She was leaving here to go home and change, and then meet up with Yukari to go shopping."_

_ The questioning continued for about 15 minutes. Van wasn't sure what impression he made on the officer. Did Byrd think Van was guilty? He couldn't tell. The officer eventually left, telling Van they'd keep him updated. "Now, I know you'll probably go out and search for her, and I can't stop you," the officer continued. "Just remember to be careful, all right?"_

_ "Yes, sir," Van said. He closed the door and leaned against it. His hands were shaking. He felt weak. And sick, but the sickness was his own fault, from the drinking. He wouldn't let the sickness stop him from finding her._

_ "Van, honey," his mother said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I think you should go to sleep."_

_ He turned around, and he felt a sharp pain on the right side of his head. "No, I have to find her!" he said._

_ "It's too dark and dangerous," his father said. "Hitomi wouldn't want you to get hurt looking for her like that."_

_ "Oh, just let him go," Folken said, walking down the hall. "He's big, tough Van, he can take care of himself." The words themselves sounded like a compliment. But Van knew that Folken was just trying to make fun of him, somehow. Folken was always trying to be a jerk, always making derogatory comments. Always trying to ruin anything Van had. _

_ But this one, this one comment that didn't even have that much weight, pissed Van off enough that he ran after his brother and slammed him into the wall, screaming, "You probably did this, you jealous bastard! You good for nothing! Why weren't you searching! Why weren't any of you searching! Wipe that smile off your fucking face, you fucking jackass!" Van was about to punch Folken in the nose when he was suddenly dragged back, into the opposite wall, by his father, who gripped the front of Van's shirt with two hands. _

_ "Don't you dare falsely accuse your brother," his father said in his low voice. "Just like the Kanzaki's are doing to you! They're pretty much convinced you have some role in this. How does it feel to be falsely accused? Does it feel good?"_

_ He was ready to scream at his father, but he bit the words back and tried to let everything sink in. Hitomi's parents didn't like him, he knew that, but couldn't they see he would never do anything to her against her will? The question, 'why would anyone do this to Hitomi?', crossed his mind again. Do what to her, he asked himself. Kidnap her? Rape her? Hold her for ransom? Murder her? The police were going to find her body dumped in a river a week or two from now. She'd be just a corpse. They would have beaten everything that was Hitomi out of her. She'd be dead._

_ His father hugged him. "It's okay, son. Everything's going to be okay."_

_ Van had been on the verge of tears in his father's arms, but instead he got angry again. "Don't say that! You don't know that! What if she's dead!" The words wavered at the end._

_ "She's not dead," his father said, still hugging him. "You shouldn't give up before you've even started." Neither knew what to say now. "Tell you what," his father continued. "I'll go search for Hitomi. You stay here and try to sleep. How's that?"_

_ Van didn't really like this plan at all and he knew he wouldn't sleep. But it seemed like a fair enough agreement. Van would just start searching as soon as the sun started rising. No, he told himself. She'll be found by then. "Okay," he said. They pulled apart. Mr. Fanel went to grab his coat, said a few words to his mom and gave her a kiss, and then left. Van watched him go, then looked and saw Folken standing in the same spot against the wall, smirking. Van walked up to his room, locked the door, and flopped down on his bed._

_ His room was the worst place he could be. This is where they had been earlier, just doing their homework, their normal, everyday things, expecting to do the same tomorrow. She'd accidentally left one of her pencils on his desk. She had been sitting in his desk chair less than twelve hours ago. He could still smell the scent of her freshly-washed hair on his pillow, from when they'd been cuddling. Now he pictured her corpse lying next to him and hated himself and cried. He would calm down eventually, and the whole vicious process would start again, the good thoughts, the terrible thoughts, the crying. Sun began to show through his blinds. He got out of bed, even more tired than when he first laid down. He went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. His eyes were red. But at least he could wipe the tear streaks away._

_ He put on new clothes and ran down the stairs, grabbed the car keys off the table, and started the car. His hands gripped the wheel. I'm going to find her, he thought. I'm going to find her alive. He started to drive, then realized he had no idea where to look, or where they had already looked. He decided to go to the park. On his way there, he passed his father, who came to a stop on the side of the road. Even though he didn't want to, Van turned around and parked behind his father._

_ "Van, they found her," his father said. "Some stranger found her. In the woods. They took her to Fanelia Hospital."_

_ "So she's going to be okay?" Van asked._

_ "Yes, I think so. I wasn't told the details." _

_ "I'm hoping you're going to tell me that I'm dreaming and this was all just a terrible nightmare," Van whispered. Somehow, knowing that Hitomi was okay wasn't as comforting as he thought it would be. There was still the question of who did this to her. And now he didn't know if he could bear to see whatever hurt had been inflicted on her. No, don't be a pansy, he told himself. He had to see her no matter what condition she was in._

_ "No, son, this isn't a dream," his father said, putting a hand on Van's shoulder. "This is very real."_

_ "Can I go to the hospital now?" Van asked._

_ "Of course," his father said. "But you probably won't get to see her right away. Also, her parents will probably be there. That might be a problem. Now I'm not sure if you should go . . ."_

_ "I have to go," he said. "Hitomi knows I didn't do it."_

_ "Okay. Just be careful."_

_ It was around six in the morning now when he got to the hospital. Not many people were there yet. But it didn't matter. There were always nurses bustling around. Always doctors trying to save people. Always the smell of sanitizer, trying to mask the smell of death. Van had never really been in a hospital for anything too serious. Once he came in to get an EKG because his doctor thought he had an irregular heartbeat. Another time he came because he thought he broke his finger. It didn't bother him too much then. But now Hitomi was hurt, and he had no idea in what way, if there would be permanent damage, if she would die._

_ The receptionist told him he couldn't see Hitomi right now since she was still being treated, but he was taken to an area where he was told to wait. The Kanzakis were already there, and that made him want to cry. He was a terrible boyfriend. He didn't get there fast enough. He was worthless. He was worse than worthless, in their eyes. Both her parents were looking at him. He went and sat down next to them, prepared to say he was sorry, but he couldn't. Instead, he asked, "She's going to be okay, right?"_

_ Her mother just stared at him. Her wrinkles were accentuated from the fatigue, making her look much older than she actually was. He tried to imagine what was going on inside her head. She was probably cursing him out, screaming, 'leave, you fucking bastard. Leave my daughter alone. It's your fault. You did this. I don't want you near my daughter again. It makes me sick to think she ever found comfort in your arms.'_

_ "You're right, it is my fault," he said, before she answered his question. "It's my fault because I should've protected her. I mean, I didn't even walk her to her car or anything. I just assumed she'd be okay. I assumed I'd see her tomorrow and she'd be perfectly okay. I never thought this would happen . . ."_

_ "Van," Mrs. Kanzaki said, cutting off his rambling. "Van, I'm trying very hard to believe that you didn't do it. But I can't shake this feeling that, even if you didn't do it yourself, you're somehow involved. It's because you came into her life. I don't know."_

_ Folken's smirking face came back to him. But how did Mrs. Kanzaki know about his emo and twisted brother? Or did she just stereotype him because he was a jock? Or because he was good-looking and must have girls fawning over him anyway, so why would he pick Hitomi? Or was it because she thought he looked scary, with his red-tinted brown eyes and his dark brown, almost-black hair? Was it a combination of everything? But she had never really tried to get to know him._

_ He was trying to think of something to say, trying to deny it, but his silence must have already seemed like assent._

_ "But she will be okay," Mrs. Kanzaki said. "And nobody could've seen this coming."_

_ They all sat in silence the rest of the wait, watching others come in and out, walking, crying, sitting, worrying, waiting. The waiting gave Van too much time to think. He wondered what could've possibly happened to Hitomi. Had they shot her? Stabbed her? Raped her? He tried not to think of her naked, on the grass, bleeding, a cloth stuffed in her mouth, almost choking her so she couldn't scream, with some guy on top of her, forcing himself inside of her. The thought made him shake and grip the arms of his chair. _

_ He finally released the chair when the nurse told him and her parents they could go see her now. He stood outside her door, though, letting her parents see her first, wondering what to say. What was he supposed to say when he saw her? Was he supposed to just say, 'Hey, how are you?' Was he supposed to immediately ask what happened? Maybe she would speak first. Well, then what would she say?_

_ The door to Hitomi's room opened. "Van, you can come in now," Hitomi's mother said._

_ He exhaled deeply through his nose before walking inside. The first thing he noticed was that she looked very white, her skin pale, accentuated by the white hospital gown. Then he noticed that it wasn't just because of that that she looked so white. It was because she had no hair – she was bald. _

_ As he got closer, he noticed that she wasn't really all white. There were plenty of blue bruises, and a cut on her arm that was stitched up. One of her fingers was in a splint. He looked down at the lower half of her body, but it was covered by a blanket. Then he looked at her face and saw that her eyes were as green and alert and alive as ever._

_ "Hitomi," he said, sitting down in the chair next to her bed. It was the only adequate thing he could think to say. A reminder that this damaged body was still Hitomi. He took one of her hands in both of his._

_ "Can I talk to Van alone?" Hitomi asked in a tired, broken voice, looking behind him. He hadn't even been aware that her parents were still there._

_ They hesitated, but her mom finally said, "Of course, sweetheart," and they left. _

_ "Do I look that bad, Van?" she whispered._

_ "No," he said, shaking his head to add emphasis. "You look better than I thought you would. I imagined all these terrible things. . . ." He was having difficulty swallowing. He wanted to cry, but he didn't want to do it in front of her. She was in so much more pain than him. He didn't deserve to cry._

_ "So what happened? You don't have to tell me right now if you don't want to," he said, running his thumb across the back of her hand._

_ She looked at the hand he was holding and he could see tears forming in her eyes. He wanted to stroke her hair in comfort, but she didn't have any. Instead he kissed her cheek and immediately wondered if this was the right thing to do. _

_ "He jumped me when I got out of the car," she said, looking at Van's face, looking first at his left eye, then at his right, switching back and forth. "He covered my mouth and dragged me to another car not that far away. I couldn't see his face. There were two others in the car and it had just gotten dark, so I couldn't see them very well, either, and they blindfolded me and tied something around my mouth. They didn't talk. I don't know where they took me then. They shaved off my hair. They tried to tickle me and I tried to kick them, so they tied up my legs. They took me somewhere else, still saying nothing. Then they started cutting me, randomly . . ." she began crying and shaking then. Up until that point, she had been telling the story in a detached, low voice. But now she was sobbing and it was making her cough._

_ "Okay, okay, it's okay, I shouldn't've made you explain it, just please, you've got to stop crying, okay? You've got to stop coughing." Each thumb was working at wiping away her tears. "Shhh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't've asked you that, please calm down." Tears had start coming out of his own eyes at some point, which wasn't helping him. He started listening to himself instead of letting the panic take over, and he realized what he was saying was crazy. He couldn't just tell her to calm down and expect it to happen. So instead he pulled his chair in closer to her, leaning his head on her pillow. She turned her head to look at him. Tears dripped off both of their noses. His thumb still stroked her cheek. Eventually her breathing steadied. Each time she exhaled, her breath hit his face, her warm, dry breath. It assured him that she really was alive. _

_ "Go to sleep," he whispered, even though he didn't actually want her to do that at all, because then her eyes would close. Her eyes were the gateway to her mind, and they told him she was frightened. If she closed them, she'd be looking in on herself, seeing things only she could see, nightmares that would torture her. But she needed to sleep. "Go to sleep," he repeated. She nodded and closed her eyes. She didn't keep them closed that long, though, before she was looking at him. "I won't go anywhere," he whispered. Her eyes closed again, opening sleepily a few minutes later. He was still looking at her, in the same position. He knew her parents had come back in at some point, but he didn't care. "See? I'm still here," he whispered. The next time her eyes closed, she was asleep. Still, he kept his head on the pillow, staring at her, feeling the weight of his own eyelids. The hand on his shoulder made him jump._

_ He looked up into the brown eyes of her mother. "You should sleep, too, Van," she whispered, not wanting to wake up Hitomi. He stood up. Now he was taller than Mrs. Kanzaki, and she let go of his shoulder. _

_ "You should, too, Mrs. Kanzaki," he whispered back, looking down into her dark brown eyes, thinking only of how they were nothing like Hitomi's sparkling green ones. _

_ "Yes, let's sleep in the chairs over here. We have a lot to discuss when we wake up."_

_ Van tried not to shift too much in his chair, because he hated hearing the chair squeak under him or the sound of his clothes rubbing against the it. Eventually he fell asleep, though, and was the last to wake up. He cringed as he straightened his neck, turning it one way and then the other. Continuing to stretch his neck, he mumbled, "It's a party in here," after noting that Hitomi's parents, his parents, her brother, his brother, and of course, Hitomi, were in the room. Hitomi had propped up the bed so she could sit up and see everyone. She was staring at him. He couldn't help staring back while he stretched his neck, waiting for someone to acknowledge the joke, or at least say something._

_ "Well, now that we're all here and awake, I think we need to talk," Mrs. Kanzaki began, standing next to Hitomi's bed with her arms folded across her chest. She was wearing a white sweater and black pants. A guarded pose matched by her no-nonsense clothes. There was a white and a black side, a right and a wrong, a good and an evil. Right then, he was evil in her mind, so he didn't dare venture towards Hitomi just yet._

_ "Let's just get to the point," Mrs. Kanzaki said, after nobody said anything. "Someone had to know that Hitomi was going to Yukari's around 8, and that she was with Van in the afternoon. Whoever did this had to know. They were waiting. They had to have planned it." She was looking at Van as she said this. Everyone was looking at him now. Hunger and anger pained him at the same time._

_ "The only person I told was Miguel," he said._

_ "Who's Miguel?" Mrs. Kanzaki asked._

_ "He's my best friend, he-"_

_ "Let me guess: he would never do this," Mrs. Kanzaki said, her eyebrows knitted and her lips forming a sharp line. Mr. Kanzaki, a slender, aging man with graying hair, said "honey . . ." under his breath. _

_ Van was used to being the first one to attack, the one that always pushed the offensive forward. As the captain of the hockey team and an aggressive, high-scoring center, he was used to confronting his opponent head-on, never backing down. But Hitomi's mother had him on the defensive, and he knew that if he defended Miguel, it would come off wrong, suspicious, like he wasn't on Hitomi's side. And he couldn't attack Mrs. Kanzaki, either, because if he was accusatory, it would also seem like he wasn't on Hitomi's side. He swallowed, still starting at her mother, wondering how to sound neutral, and if that would be beneficial._

_ "I don't think he would do this. He has no reason to do this. He's been my best friend since the fourth grade," Van said, slowly._

_ "Maybe you just explained why he would do this to you," Mrs. Kanzaki said._

_ "Because he's my best friend?"_

_ "Yes," she said, with no hesitation. "Aren't most crimes committed by people who supposedly love you the most, or by complete strangers? And we already ruled out a stranger, so it has to be someone close to you, someone who knew and would have a motive," Mrs. Kanzaki said. "The police asked you if anyone else knew, didn't they? So they'll make him a person of interest, too?"_

_ "I don't remember every single question I was asked," Van said, looking out the window. It was a perfect spring day before the actual start of spring. A perfect end to the weekend. A perfect day for kids to be playing outside, for their parents to be relaxing and reading and cleaning and smiling with them. And somewhere out there, the person who did this to Hitomi was eating, smiling, playing, basking in the innocence of the sun. Van thought of Miguel's eyes, made a lighter blue thanks to the light rays, concealing his ghoulish intents. _

_ "Mom, leave Van alone," Hitomi said, her voice stronger than Van expected. "He didn't do this, and it's not his fault if his friend did."_

_ "In sports, don't you say the team is only as good as your weakest player?" Mrs. Kanzaki asked. Van didn't answer. She appeared to take this as assent, and turned to Hitomi. "Well, you're also only as good as the company you keep." _

_ Van waited for someone to defend him. _

_ Instead Folken's laughter filled the room. Everyone was looking at him, at his upturned, opened lips, at his spasming chest that was covered by his crossed arms. Van was about to rush his brother again, but Folken's eyes stopped him. He and his brother had the same red-tinted brown eyes. Nothing else about their appearances was similar – Folken was taller, skinnier, and paler than Van, with hair that he'd chosen to dye a light blue. But in that moment, all these other differences didn't matter, because all he could think was that he and his brother saw the world through the same bloodied lens._

_ "That's enough, Folken," Goau Fanel said quietly. "And Mrs. Kanzaki, I understand that you're upset, but like Hitomi said, Van didn't do this. I'm asking you to please leave him alone."_

_ "I think it's best if you and your family leave," Mrs. Kanzaki said. _

_ "Fine," Van said automatically. He knew that wrinkles of anger showed all over his face. He wanted to just storm out, but he couldn't, especially after seeing how Hitomi's lip was twitching from trying not to cry. By the time he reached her side, everyone else in the room had already disappeared from his world, and he could let go of his anger. He leaned down, resting his forehead against hers. For a second, he wondered again if he should regret this action, because she could feel his hair against her bare scalp. But there was nothing to do about that, so he whispered, "I love you more than anything." He wanted to qualify that with something else, something about how he would make this right, except he knew that those words would mean nothing. His lips lightly brushing hers said everything better than made-up words ever could._

_ He left without looking at anyone else._

_ The rest of his family followed not far behind him. They walked through the hospital without saying anything, and then they split up into their two cars, Van and his mother going in one, and Folken and his dad going in the other. Van's mother, Varie, got in the driver's seat. Van rested his head against the window, his eyes heavy now that he didn't have Mrs. Kanzaki attacking him, now that Hitomi wasn't there, now that his mother could guide him._

_ He focused on his reflection in the window. "Do you think Miguel did this?" Van asked._

_ "I don't know. It's not impossible," Varie said._

_ "What if he did it, and there's just no evidence? How can I be friends with him now, always wondering? What if I never know the truth?" _

_ "I wish I had some deep insight into the power of the truth," his mother said. "But I don't, and I honestly don't know what you should do right now, except tell the police so that they can investigate."_

_ "I don't want you to have some insight about the truth," Van said. "Then you'd be like Mrs. Kanzaki – saying these sayings that aren't true."_

_ Varie's lips lifted slightly. "Yes, well, my honest opinion is that you should leave it up to the police for now, and just see what happens."_

_ The police searched the Fanel house first, looking for clues and DNA evidence. But in Van's room, Hitomi's DNA was everywhere — a fingerprint on his trophies, a hair on his pillow, skin particles in the dust on his desk. She was everywhere except in places that could be considered evidence – none of her hairs were on his razor, and they couldn't find a suspected a weapon. They found no traces of her blood._

_ "Let's be real," Miguel said, after the police had searched his house and Van had come over the next day to explain everything, "the only blood you ever drew out of her was when you broke her hymen." Ghoul laughed. Van closed his eyes and swallowed. "Sorry, too soon to joke about all this? Thought you'd feel better, knowing the only way you hurt her was by loving her."_

_ This comment seemed to have multiple meanings, all of which Van didn't like. It sounded like what Mrs. Kanzaki had said – that people hurt the ones they love the most, and therefore Van was hurting Hitomi. It also sounded like Miguel was implying that he had only hurt Hitomi because Van loved her too much, because Van had neglected Ghoul. Van still said nothing. Ghoul punched Van's arm playfully. "Come on, lighten up," Ghoul said. _

_ Van told himself that he was reading too much into Ghoul's words. After all, Ghoul had been hit in the head quite a few times in hockey, so he couldn't be getting all the oxygen necessary to make him clever._

_ "Yeah, I know," Van said quietly, sitting on Ghoul's porch. "It's just . . . hard, you know?"_

_ "Nah, I don't know," Ghoul said, shaking his head. "Never happened to me."_

_ Van fell silent again. Ghoul was just supposed to empathize with Van, say that he understood his friend's pain even if he didn't. But then, Ghoul was just being honest. Maybe he wanted Van to explain._

_ "Is the worst part like, looking at her?" Ghoul asked. His murky blue eyes bore into Van's. "You know, seeing her all damaged, without hair? Thinking about how much you love her and how you hate whoever did this to her, but also thinking how she's ugly with no hair? Is that kinda what it's like?"_

_ "Sort of," Van admitted. Now Ghoul was empathizing too much. Like that was the response he had been hoping for when he stabbed Hitomi in the side, or when he'd taken a razor to her._

_ "It sucks, though, bro," Ghoul went on. "I mean, now she'll look bad for everything, you know, prom, graduation and stuff. And your cutest couple photo. Gonna have to take the pic for that soon."_

_ "That's not my concern," Van said. "Look . . . Obviously you know you're a suspect. I need you to tell me you didn't do it."_

_ Ghoul's eyes became stormy, his brows knitted in anger and his lips forming a frown. "You think I did it, bro?"_

_ Bro. Van was starting to hate that word. Ghoul kept using it to show that Van was allied with his best friend, rather than his girlfriend. He used it to make Van second guess himself. He used it to tell Van that family bonds can't be broken. But it just made Van think of how much he hated Folken, his only sibling. And now, how much he hated his wannabe sibling and best friend._

_ "Don't 'bro' me," Van said. "Why can't you just say you didn't do it, if you didn't do it?"_

_ "Get the fuck off my porch," Ghoul said, standing up. "I can't believe you'd think I did this."_

_ "I didn't," Van said, standing up as well. "But now I do, and even if the police find nothing, I always will." He walked away, with Ghoul yelling, "I can't fucking believe you!"_

_ Van hadn't seen Hitomi for two days. Her parents didn't want him to see her. But the first night she was released from the hospital, she called his house around one in the morning. His mom answered and came to his room and shook him awake. "What," he said, voice heavy with sleep. _

_ "Hitomi's on the phone," she whispered. _

_ Even this didn't wake him up fully. He sat up, but still felt groggy. "Hello?" he said. His mother left the room._

_ All he heard was sobbing on the other end. Her sniffles made him much more alert. "Hitomi, what's wrong?" he asked. "Are you hurt?"_

_ She sniffed deeply, trying to control her sobs enough so that he would understand her words. "I miss you," she said. By the end, she was crying all-out again, unable to speak clearly. He swallowed._

_ "I miss you, too," he said. "So let's stop missing each other. You want me to come over?"_

_ "Yes," she managed to say._

_ "Okay, I'll be right over. I'm going to hang up the phone now. I'll see you soon," he said. He hung up, got dressed, and told his mom he was leaving. It only took about 10 minutes to drive to her house in the middle of the night._

_ He didn't even have to knock; she had been watching for him, and opened the door as soon as he stepped onto her porch. She pulled him inside and locked the door as quickly as she could with trembling hands. He stood behind her, watching her fingers fumble, and he regretted not helping her. Then, when she wrapped her arms around him, he regretted other things, too – like letting her parents keep him away from her. He pulled her closer to him, feeling the stubble of her hair scratching his neck and her tears dampening his shirt._

_ "Hitomi? Is that you?" her father whispered. Van flinched at the sound of his voice, which made Hitomi back away from him, wiping her tears on her arm._

_ "Dad," was all she said._

_ "What are you doing? I heard the door open — who's with you?" he asked. In the darkness of the room, Mr. Kanzaki looked even more empty and wispy than normal, just a gray, undefined shadow with a kind voice. _

_ "Van," she said._

_ "Hitomi, you know you're not supposed to -" her father whispered hurriedly. Speeding up his speech seemed to be equivalent to getting mad._

_ "Know I'm not supposed to see him," she said, her voice unsteady. "But I don't know why you say that. I don't know anything, except that all I want is him." Quiet, indecipherable noises escaped her. Noises and sobs were the only way she had to describe her pain to her father. _

_ "Hitomi -" her father began._

_ "Come on," she said, grabbing Van's hand. She walked quickly to her room, with him trailing behind, looking at her father, who just watched the two. Mr. Kanzaki didn't move even as the door closed and Hitomi locked it behind her._

_ "Hitomi, are you sure – ?" Van started to ask._

_ "Yes, what are you doing, are you siding with them?" she asked. She stared at him in the moonlight. Tears no longer leaked from her eyes. Her sadness had turned into anger that had no definite origin, and therefore had no definitive target._

_ "No," he said, moving closer to hug her. "I've missed you so much. I just don't want you to do anything you'd regret."_

_ "I won't regret it," she whispered, taking his hand again and leading him to the bed. She laid down, while he sat on the edge of the bed, looking at her. She was already in her pajamas, just an old t-shirt with plaid bottoms. He had seen her occasionally in her pajamas, on lazy Saturdays. But it was different, thinking of how he was going to lay next to her for a whole night. He didn't know why this felt special, since he'd seen her naked before, had felt her bare skin against his as they laid next to each other in bed. Somehow, going to sleep together for the night, locked in a room, seemed more intimate. _

_ "I'm ugly now, aren't I?" she asked. Evidently he'd been staring at her too long. He wasn't sure exactly how much time had passed, because he was just sleepy, spacing out._

_ "No," he said. He realized he had to qualify that statement with something. "Didn't I tell you, before all of this, that you were pretty no matter what? I meant that." He took off his shirt and got under the covers._

_ "But you said that before I had all these scars and lost my hair," she whispered. "You weren't actually thinking when you said it."_

_ His eyes were half-closed. "But that's because I didn't need to be thinking," he said, each word becoming softer. "I just knew it was true." He made an effort to open his eyes all the way and stay awake. He noticed that her lower lip was trembling again in an effort not to cry. She moved closer to him on the bed and he hugged her, running his hand up and down her back._

_ "I wanted to buy you something that night," she whispered. "When you were teasing me about what I would buy, I was thinking of how I was going to surprise you. I was going to buy you a shirt, to wear in the yearbook picture. But that didn't happen and now I can't surprise you and I'm all cut up and pink and scarred anyway and then my parents kept you away from me and you're nice about it anyway." _

_ He kept rubbing her back, wondering what he should say to all this, knowing only that it had to be something happy. "Well, why don't you and me go shopping tomorrow?" he asked._

_ "Tomorrow's a school day."_

_ "I guess I'm not going to that. That's cool, I don't like it there, anyway."_

_ "Are you sure?" she asked._

_ "Yeah."_

_ They lay in silence for a bit. Finally he said, "I confronted Miguel about it, and I think he did it, but I don't have proof or anything. Either way, I can't be his friend anymore."_

_ "I'm sorry," she said. "You shouldn't have to lose your best friend because of me."_

_ "Yeah, well, why would I want to hang out with a jackass like him, anyway?" Van said, somewhat amused in his sleepy state, because she used to think he was a jackass._

_ "Let's talk about it more in the morning," she said._

_ "It is the morning."_

_ "So wise, even when you're tired," she said. "Good night."_

_ "Good morning!" he said, laughing._

_ "Go to sleep!" she said, also laughing._

_ They woke up after her parents had already gone to work and her brother was at school, so they weren't scared to unlock the door. Van called his mom to tell her he hadn't gone to school. They ate some breakfast then went to the mall. _

_ He was always surprised by how many people were at the mall during the weekdays. Weren't people supposed to be in school or working? Then he realized that this was probably the best time for Hitomi to go, because there would be less of a chance of running into people she knew. He didn't want to tell her that she was all anyone talked about, to him, anyway. Everyone seemed to agree it was a pretty messed up incident. But looking at her stitched up skin and her hat-covered head, he knew she wouldn't want people to look at her with pity like that. And besides, he was determined to make this day as happy as possible._

_ They went around to various clothing stores, because she still wanted to buy him a dressy shirt. It was exhausting and bothersome to Van, to have to go around to all these stores and try on all these shirts, but he did it without too much complaint. At first she had him trying on black shirts, to match his hair. Then she decided to have him try on red shirts to match his eyes, and she liked these much better, eventually buying him one. The only other purchases they made were some hats for Hitomi, until her hair grew back, and some ice cream._

_ Once school was over, they went to visit Yukari at her house for a few hours. It was partially because Hitomi wanted to see Yukari, partially just because Hitomi didn't want to go home, and partially because she wanted Van to hang out with her best friend. Talking among the three of them was easier than he thought it would be. They talked about how Hitomi was doing, about Miguel, about who might've done it in general, about Hitomi and Van's illicit night together. Nothing was off limits, which made Van and Yukari fast friends._

_ "I always thought you were a jerk," Yukari said. "But you're not. You've just got a smart mouth on you."_

_ "He does, he really does!" Hitomi said._

_ "Listen, woman – you're the catch, you hear me! Don't pretend like you didn't start liking me because of my smart mouth," Van said. "Once I got you to think I was clever, you started liking me, see."_

_ "And why'd you start liking her?" Yukari asked._

_ "Because, I don't know, it was so much fun to tease her? Because she was so hard to get?" Van replied with a shrug._

_ After Yukari's, Van decided he was done antagonizing Hitomi's parents. He took her back to her house for dinner and went home for dinner himself. He picked her up for school the next day. They walked through the doors hand-in-hand. Everyone couldn't help but stare for a few seconds, at her hatted, hairless head and bruised body, but Van and Hitomi made a point of staring straight ahead, or at each other. The only time Van couldn't resist looking was when they walked past Miguel._

_ They would find out later that Ghoul was an idiot, and the police had found pieces of Hitomi's hair on his razor. With this DNA evidence, and his parent's testimonies that he was not home at the time of the incident, and Hitomi's testimony, he was convicted of hazing, sexual assault, and battery. Hitomi said there were two others there with Miguel, and he accused Gatty and Dallet. They were also tried and convicted. They would be sent to prison for a couple of years, and the rest they would serve through community service and probation. This didn't make Hitomi or Van particularly happy or anything. It didn't change the past. Hitomi still had stitches, a broken finger, yellowing bruises, very little hair, a shattered sense of security, scars that might never go away. _

_ The loss of her hair bothered her more with each passing day. She could hide the stitches and the yellowing bruises under her clothes. But a hat didn't really hide the fact that she had nothing but a stubble of hair. _

_ "It's temporary," Van said._

_ "I'm temporarily ugly, that's what you mean," Hitomi said, sitting on her bed._

_ "No, we've been through this, stop putting words in my mouth," he said. He tried not to get angry, but it his words didn't seem to touch her anymore._

_ "How can you say I'm not ugly right now?" she asked, looking him in the eye, countering with her own anger._

_ "All right," he said, knitting his brows. "You're ugly right now. There, are you freaking happy? The answer is, no, you're not! Why do you make me say shit like this? I love you, and I know that your hair will grow back, and you do, too."_

_ "But what about prom, and the cutest couple photo? They're taking that tomorrow. What are we going to do?" _

_ "I don't know, stand in the hallway and hug and smile, isn't that what they always do?" he asked, throwing up his hands. He couldn't believe he just said that. He didn't want to be like everyone else and all the implications that statement carried with it. "Look, we can probably just even give them a photo of us that we already took, before all this happened."_

_ "But then you won't get to wear the shirt," she said. "And is that right? For us to deny that this happened like that?"_

_ "I don't freaking understand you right now," he said, pacing, treading and retreading across the same two or three feet of floor, not lifting his feet fully off the ground. "I don't understand what you want to do, I don't understand what you want me to freaking say."_

_ "I want you to tell me the truth," she said, removing her hat. He stopped pacing and looked at her, at her seemingly elongated scalp, full of little bristles of what would someday be the hair that he'd once enjoyed running his hands through while he kissed her. "You haven't touched my head since all of this happened. Aside from the first few days, you've hardly touched me at all, with the stitches and bruising. You're afraid to hurt me, physically and emotionally, I get it. But the truth is, you also just don't want to touch me when I'm like this. You loved me when I had hair, when I wasn't ugly."_

_ "I love you now," he said, his voice low and full of despair because everything she said had truth to it. Because that was exactly what Ghoul had probably tried to do – make her look ugly to show Van that he didn't belong with her. That she wasn't pretty enough for him. That she wasn't worthy of his love. "I love you for your just being you."_

_ She smiled at him, but it was the sort of smile that faded almost as soon as it came, that simply tried to hide the glassiness of her eyes."But isn't what I look like a part of me just being me?"_

_ "Appearances change," he said. "People get hair cuts. They wear different clothes."_

_ "People change, too," she whispered, looking at the ground._

_ He sat down next to her on the bed, leaving a gap between them. It seemed like she was ready to break up with him, but that couldn't be right. Nothing major had gone wrong until now, this fight. And even now, he didn't really think there was anything wrong. "What are you saying?" he asked, his voice level._

_ "You're going to college next year, and you'll meet all these new people, and have all these new experiences, and the last thing you'll remember is that I'm like this," she said, looking at him. "And don't pretend that other girls wouldn't do anything to be with you, or that you're not attracted to other girls."_

_ "I'm not going that far, you know," he said, thinking about the girls he'd danced with at the party, about how he had been attracted to some of them, while she'd been lying in a park somewhere, bleeding from where his friend's blade had sliced open her skin, over and over again. "I'll come home at least every other weekend." He looked over at her and took the hand she had resting on the bed between them. "You don't know what will happen in the future. But don't ruin both the present and the future by saying stuff like this." He moved closer to her, hugged her gently, made sure that one of his hands supported the back of her head, letting the stubble scrape his palm. She hugged him back, which offered him no comfort. She could only hug him because she didn't know about the other girls who had pressed their bodies against his that night, because the smell of alcohol and perfume didn't hang on to him still. _

_ He pulled back and smiled and said, "Let's dance," before he lost his nerve._

_ She made no visible movement. "What?" was all she could say._

_ "Let's dance. You like all that dance music and don't dance. It's sad. I want to get my techno on with you," he rambled._

_ "Dance where?"_

_ "Right here! You and me! We can have a party, just the two of us," he said, walking towards her CDs, browsing all the names and titles that meant nothing to him. "What's your favorite song?"_

_ "Levels by Avicii."_

_ "Aveechi?"_

_ "He's Swedish." She got up and handed him the CD on the top of the stack. "You're not going to know the song, though, so it's not going to be any fun," she said, as he took the CD and put it in the player._

_ "You've never seen me dance, baby," he said, hating his silly self, choking on his words. "I'm a great dancer," he lied, hearing the track begin with some clapping, a repeated rift that changed ever so slightly, that was catchy but not quite danceable. _

_ "Wait for the drop . . . it's like a minute in," she said, watching him. He started bobbing his head to the beat, heard it build up and stop for a few seconds. And then it dropped into the catchiest and happiest dance tune he'd ever heard, and he didn't know what made it so catchy or happy, but that made it easier for him to start moving his whole body, striding towards her, taking her hands in his. _

_ "This is ridiculous," she said._

_ "No, it's fun," he said. "When you go to dances, it's not like you dance so other people will watch you and have fun. It's just to have fun yourself." He looked down at her, pulling her closer, pushing her away to twirl her around, moving her arms in spasmodic motions to try to get her into it. She squeezed his hands and then let go, swinging her hips back and forth to the beat. Since she knew the song, it was easier for her to be on the beat. At the bridge, the song slowed down, and she hugged him close as they swayed. He wondered what she was thinking. Neither of them said anything._

_ The next day they both walked into school smiling, dressed nicer than normal, prepared for the picture. When the math teacher who also served as the yearbook photographer came to get them from class, they asked if they could take the picture outside, on the hill. The three of them trekked out into the sun, and Van sat down in the middle of the hill, Hitomi sitting in front of him, leaning against him, and he wrapped his arms around her. They told the teacher to take the photo at an angle, not head on. Neither of them looked at the camera. They didn't smile. Van leaned his head against hers, his mouth near the top of her ear. They watched the cars drive by on the distant street. He whispered, "I love you." She squeezed his arm._

_ The teacher showed them the picture on the digital display to ask if it was what they wanted, or if they wanted to take another. They told him it was fine. It captured what they wanted. They looked cute, yet troubled. Sad, but like happiness was just missing them. They wanted people to always look back on the photo and remember._

Now he was Miguel. Worse than Miguel. He wished he could explain how Folken decided to act on his hate. How he threatened to kill Hitomi if Van didn't obey. Folken got the best of both worlds. He made Van his puppet, one that beat his own wife. Folken inflicted the most damage he possibly could have by making them destroy their own lives. It was so much worse than dying.

She slammed the door on her way out. "Jingle Bells" continued to play. The tree remained half-decorated. He closed his eyes and put his head down on the table, wishing his heart would stop beating.

**AN: I got stuck somewhere in this chapter (towards the end, too!). And then I was busy and I couldn't push past the being stuck for awhile. I'm still busy, but I was like "screw it, I'm going to sit here and finish this damn chapter. I wrote a paper and an emergency sports article, I think I deserve a break." I think we're definitely entering the last leg of this story. Like three or four more chapters. Thing is, I don't really know what I want to happen in the end. We'll see when we get there, I guess.**

**And yes, I know Avicii "Levels" is a recent song and it would not have been out when Van and Hitomi were teenagers. But it's so good that I don't care. If you haven't heard it before, your life is incomplete. Song is crazy awesome.**

**Thanks to all who reviewed! I think I will do review replies when I'm not so tired.**

**-Spirit0**


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